She’d known what his answer would be, yet it still stung to hear it.
Claude’s father took her hand and squeezed it. “I’ll always take care of you,” he promised.
She didn’t doubt it. That wasn’t the point. “You don’t think I’m capable of taking care of myself?”
“It has nothing to do with your abilities, Claude. Trust is the key to my business. I do not hire women because men only trust other men with their money. I wish it were not true, but it is. I would not lie to you.”
“So things would be different if I’d been born a boy?”
“Yes, they would.” He turned to face her, his eyes moist beneath thick, black brows. “No boy could do what you can do, Claude. I can hire people to work for my fund, no problem. But I could never hire anyone to do your job. You are my ambassador, my translator, my guide. I don’t speak the language these people speak. I don’t understand their ridiculous world. But you do. You know how to make them happy. Two more investors signed on this evening—because of the party you threw. You are as important to the business as I am.”
“You mean that?”
“Absolutely. Now, if you want to help the business even more, you can do your father a big favor and marry someone impressive. That way I can bring him into the fund and put his name beside ours on the door.”
“You really want to marry me off to some snob with a fancy name?” Claude jested. “What is this? The nineteenth century?”
“The game is the same as it’s always been,” her father told her, and she knew he was serious. “You’ve been dealt a good hand. You can either throw your cards in the air and walk away—or you can let me teach you how to play to win.”
He paused for a moment to contemplate his glass of scotch.
“To be honest, you are lucky that I am letting you choose your own husband.”
Claude pulled a throw pillow from behind her back and walloped him on the side of the head. They were both laughing so hard that a member of the staff poked their head through the door.
“No one’s being murdered. We are just having fun,” her father told the concerned servant. Her father was always kind to the help. When Claude was away, he even took his meals with them.
“The people who were here tonight look down on us,” Claude said, grabbing the glass of champagne she’d left sitting on the side table. “It doesn’t matter what we do. They always will.”
“Let them underestimate us,” her father said with a shrug. “That’s how we’ll win.”
Claude nodded thoughtfully and finished her champagne. “How do you like the name Van Bergen?”
“I have a client named Van Bergen. He’s the fanciest of them all. I used to think he shit rose blossoms. Now I know better.”
“Oh really?” She arched an eyebrow. “What exactly do you know?”
“Ask around and you’ll find out,” her father said. “It’s not something a girl should hear from her father.”
“Okay, but you still haven’t answered my question. How would you like the name Van Bergen for your door?”
Her father scowled. “That bastard. Did he proposition you? These old men think they can have anyone they want.”
“Calm down! Van Bergen has a son. I met him here tonight.”
Her father relaxed, releasing his breath in a whoosh. “And you liked him?”
“He was very handsome,” Claude said. “Though he said some mean things about you. I don’t know if I could ever forgive him for that.”