She’d held her breath, willing herself to keep it together until he left the room. The last thing Brie wanted was for Bastian to see her cry.

Oil Company Barbie? She’d busted her ass for five years as an aid worker. She’d been doing aid work in the midst of a civil war in South fucking Sudan for months, and he still saw her as Oil Company Barbie? It had rolled off his tongue too easily to not be a name he’d been calling her in his head.

It was one of the more condescending nicknames she’d ever heard. As if Princess Prime wasn’t bad enough. Pretty much any other man could call her that name, and she’d feel the kick but be able to ignore it. But this wasn’t any man. This was Bastian. And fuck, his words hurt.

It didn’t help that today she’d have to don Princess Prime’s makeup and clothes and be that fricking doll. She didn’t want to put Brie Stewart in front of the media. Brie was private.

The truth was, Bastian was one of the rare few who got to know the real her.

As a teen, she’d learned to build walls around her heart and mind because so many people wanted to use her for something. They didn’t actually give a fuck that she was a person with insecurities and needs. She was a bank account. A company. A daughter expected to use her body to close deals.

And yes, like a Barbie, she’d conducted negotiations while wearing four-inch high heels and perfect makeup. That was what women in her position had to do. Plus she’d smelled good while spearheading projects to skirt environmental regulations. She looked fuckable as she screwed over locals and fudged the facts on the effects of fracking.

She’d escaped from the business. Quit using drugs. Changed her name. Hid her past. And still she never let anyone in. She built even bigger walls.

Ezra, Jaali, and Alan didn’t even know she was a Prime. Seven months of living and working together, with limited electricity and Wi-Fi. No TV. And in all those months of late-night talking, because that was the only entertainment to be had, she’d never once shared a detail of her life before grad school, never gave a hint to her background.

That hadn’t been possible with Bastian. He’d known who she was. And at first he’d hated who she was. That was fine, because her walls were in place.

But then he’d saved her from a slave market, and her walls crumbled. They’d been stranded together for days and she had no defense. No hidden past.

So she’d been Brie Stewart and Gabriella Prime, combined. An aid worker from a wealthy family. For days in a row, she’d been free of secrets and completely herself. And still, even knowing the real her, Bastian had called her Oil Company Barbie without thought or hesitation.

She took a deep breath and wiped away her tears. She’d liked not having secrets. She’d enjoyed the fact that he knew her ugly but still respected her.

Or so she’d thought.

Another sob rose, and she swallowed it. Brie might care, but Gabriella didn’t.

She pulled the magnified makeup mirror from the bag Savvy had sent, relieved to see her eyes weren’t puffy. Brie was a crier, but Gabriella wasn’t. Today, she’d armor herself with Gabriella’s makeup and clothes. Brie had no place here anymore.

She glanced at the dress Savvy had sent. Simple. Classy. Cream and navy blue, it had a sleeveless striped bodice with a cinched waist and flared solid-blue skirt. An elegant throwback to the fifties. It would look better without the white cardigan.

She pulled cover-up from the makeup bag to hide the track marks on her arm. Savvy had sent the right colors, and Brie was an expert at blending. She opened the jar and grabbed a sponge, then stopped.

Gabriella hid all her faults and was as plastic as the doll Bastian had called her. Now that her identity had been revealed, she didn’t have to revert all the way back.

To a certain degree, she could be her real self with everyone now, not just Bastian. That meant owning her past, even the ugly, shameful parts. She left her arm alone and started on her face.

Bastian stood on the flight deck in clean ACUs and green beret, waiting for the key parties to assemble for the press conference. He hated this kind of event and wished his team was here to suffer with him, but SOCOM had wanted him to fly solo on this.

The senator stepped out on the flight deck with his entourage. The traveling press corps snapped photos of the man in a completely unnecessary flight suit, considering he’d arrived on a helicopter and would be leaving the same way.

These guys loved to play dress up. The sailor nearest to Bastian whispered, “That asshole avoided Vietnam. Tennis elbow or similar bullshit. It only flared up when it was exam time.”

“Prick,” Bastian muttered. The fact that Jackson was a creeper who’d groped Brie when she was fifteen made him want to deck the man, but that would be a fast ticket to the brig.

The senator waved and grinned at the press, then turned to the sailors and airmen who’d been assembled for this ceremony. Bastian was with a group of soldiers and sailors who would stand behind the senator as he faced the press and crew. Bastian was part of the backdrop to make Senator Jackson look important.

Standing several feet to Bastian’s right was Captain Shaw, USS Dahlgren’s commanding officer, who shook the senator’s hand. Next to him was Rear Admiral Howard, the commander of the carrier’s strike group.

Smiles were stiff and perfunctory on all but Senator Jackson, who bore a wide grin. He looked like a kid on a field trip.

Senators were rarely honored with ceremonies like this. Usually they made stealthy, lower-cost trips to military bases in Afghanistan. Aircraft carriers were reserved for cabinet members and presidents—the big and sometimes regrettable mission accomplished-type ceremonies.

But this guy was tight with Brie’s father and was taking advantage of that for political pomp. Barring big breaking news, this feel-good story of a USAID worker/American princess being rescued by Special Forces would lead the news at home tonight.

If SOCOM had their way, the op to rescue Brie would have been buried without headlines, but thanks to the senator’s blabbing to the Prime family and Jeffery Prime Jr.’s leak to the media, here they were. Seeing an opportunity for positive PR, the Pentagon had caved to the senator’s request for the dog-and-pony show.

If Jackson weren’t on the Senate’s Armed Services Committee, none of this would be happening, because the man wouldn’t have been privy to the secret op to begin with. Bastian wondered if Jackson had been aiming for this PR show when he leaked the details to the Primes.

Heads turned, and the moment everyone—even, frankly, Bastian—had been waiting for arrived. Brie stepped onto the deck, leaning on her cane and accompanied by several members of the medical team.

Her appearance triggered a mix of lust and regret. Gone was his Brie. In her place was the polished, wealthy woman he’d met ten years ago. The years had added maturity, which only deepened her beauty. She exuded class and poise. But she wasn’t the woman he’d gotten to know in South Sudan, which was where the regret came in.

Her short dark hair was styled in a way that sold the cut not as convenient for an aid worker in a country that lacked safe water, but as a fashion choice, similar to one of P!nk’s shorter styles. She wore a simple dress that looked like something Audrey Hepburn might’ve worn. The wind swept across the deck, causing the hem of the skirt to ripple and reveal the lower edge of the bandage around her thigh.

Bastian felt a surge of possessiveness as the world was getting a glimpse of this brave, strong, fierce woman. This thing between them, it wasn’t a fling, and it had nothing to do with Savvy’s orders. It went far deeper, and for the first time since he broke Cece’s heart, he wanted more than a sexual relationship.

But shit, right now she wasn’t even talking to him. His thoughtless words had cut deep—because this was more than a fling for her too. His opinion mattered to her.

Her limp was pronounced in spite of her flat shoes as she walked without smiling, her gaze fixed in the distance, not on the senator, not on the press. Not on him.

She reached the microphone set up in front of the admiral, captain, and senator and nodded to the three men before turning to the press corps, sailors, and airmen. “It is with utmost gratitude that I thank Special Operations Command and the members of the Army Special Forces and Navy SEAL teams who rescued me and my coworkers who were kidnapped during the assault on our USAID facility in South Sudan twelve days ago. I’m told I can’t name the soldiers who participated in my extraction, but I hope someday they will receive the recognition they deserve.”

She nodded toward the senator in the slightest acknowledgment. “It is my understanding that Senator Jackson had been planning this trip for some time, but the date was moved up once he learned I was recovering here on Dahlgren, a kindness because he has been a friend of my father’s for many years.”

Bastian noticed she left out any reference to the man being her friend. She also didn’t explicitly thank the senator for the visit.

“Finally, I need to thank the men and women serving aboard Dahlgren, for their kind treatment of me, excellent medical care, and their ongoing service to our country. I know how hard it is to be away from home for months at a time, and appreciate the sacrifices they make for our protection.

“I don’t have a prepared statement from USAID about South Sudan and the work I did there. At this time, I will not discuss my abduction, rescue, or if my work for the organization will continue. I believe there has been some misreporting as to my role with the organization, and I wish to make it clear I am a federal employee. My work for USAID is not in any way associated with Prime Energy or its subsidiaries.”

Standing behind her as he was, he could hear the edge in her voice as she included that dig, but the polish remained.

“I’m exceedingly proud to have worked for an organization devoted to helping people less fortunate across the world. USAID’s work in South Sudan to stave off famine in the midst of civil war cannot be lauded enough. In the days since my rescue, dozens of children have died of hunger. Others were conscripted to fight, and still others were sold into slavery.

“While we don’t yet have statistics to back up my words, I have seen those atrocities with my own eyes, and in one way or another, I intend to keep fighting for those children, to make sure they aren’t forgotten. I want to see an end to famine. An end to Lost Boys. An end to slavery in all its forms.

“As the richest, most powerful nation on earth, it is within our ability to achieve this. To that end, I ask the senator, upon his return to Congress, to insist upon more funding for South Sudan aid and to fast-track refugee programs to find homes for these starving children orphaned by ongoing war. Thank you.”

Reporters shouted questions, but Brie stepped back from the microphone. She turned and shook hands with the captain and the admiral, and briefly met Bastian’s gaze before looking away.

The makeup made her eyes huge, and her skin had a warm glow. She was beautiful. So achingly perfect.

Jackson smoothly stepped up to the mic, while she was shaking the other men’s hands, and Bastian wondered if that had been choreographed to allow her to avoid Senator Jackson.

Was Jackson somehow involved? Sure, this was a great opportunity for him to have a big photo op, but flying all the way to the Gulf of Aden… There had to be more to it than that.

The CIA couldn’t monitor Jackson, meaning Savvy wouldn’t have intel on the man unless the FBI was sharing—assuming the FBI was even investigating the senator’s activities, which they probably weren’t. Likewise, Savvy couldn’t put the Prime men under surveillance, which had to be Savvy’s justification for asking Bastian to get Brie to talk.

Brie was a back door to intel that was otherwise out of the CIA’s reach.

Jackson was a powerful senator, sitting on a number of important committees, but to Brie, Senator Jackson was just creepy Uncle Al. Which also begged the question, what other men did she know, and what power did they wield?

Savvy sat in the club, watching the flight deck ceremony on a big-screen TV with Bastian’s A-Team and the SEALs who’d been on the op. The men were ostensibly being honored in the ceremony, even if they weren’t standing next to Bastian behind the podium.

“Holy crap. I forgot how hot Princess Prime was,” a sailor said when Brie began her statement. “Think your buddy’s hitting that?” he asked, looking at the assembled A-Team.

“Shut the fuck up and show some respect,” Espinosa responded. The rest of the team glared at the sailor and his buddies, and it was clear that if the sailor didn’t listen, things could get ugly, fast.

Thankfully, he wasn’t so dumb as to further piss off an A-Team and SEALs.

Savvy watched Bastian’s face, which gave the answer to the crass question. No, he wasn’t hitting that, but his feelings for Brie were clear for all to see.

Guilt jabbed at Savvy, but she hadn’t given Bastian his orders lightly. This was a high-stakes game and the Intelligence Community was limping—nearly shattered—by ongoing leaks and political corruption. Several Americans in high government offices, up to and including the former head of the Defense Intelligence Agency, had been compromised by Russia. The whole IC was scrambling and the net result was Savvy currently operated with a degree of autonomy. Her assets were safe as long as the intel she gathered wasn’t reported all the way up the line.

But she only had a narrow window of time before Senator Jackson applied pressure to get Brie out of the region in an attempt to make it harder for the IC to connect the dots. He’d already asked to escort Brie back to the mainland, a request that had been flatly refused before Savvy was certain Brie would reject the offer.

Brie knew all the major players in the oil business, had been in the market, and had once met Lawiri in person. Savvy didn’t believe that was an accident, especially considering a Russian mercenary had told her, “My boss has been looking for you for some time.”

There was a power play happening in South Sudan, and somehow, Brie was part of it. Savvy knew it. She just needed all the pieces.

Pieces Senator Jackson didn’t want her to have. Senator Jackson, former Texas oilman and current member of the Armed Services Committee. Senator Jackson, who’d groped Brie when she was a teen. Senator Jackson, who’d flown from DC to Djibouti the moment he learned where Brie was.

It only raised the question, could Senator Jackson have been looking for Brie for some time, or was he acting as someone’s puppet?

Savvy couldn’t rule anyone out.