Catalyst: Flashpoint #2

by Grant, Rachel

  Rafe frowned, and Bastian really wished he could guess if the man was genuine or not. “I’ve always regretted not disobeying Dad and…hell, given you money, called. Did something. But you know how he is.”

  “I didn’t want your damn money. I wanted justice for Micah.”

  “You don’t still believe that crazy-assed conspiracy theory?” He looked to Bastian, and his eyes widened. “Shit. Have you been telling people you believe Dad hired a hit on your ex? It’s crazy, Gabby. How can you even think it?”

  “Because he did.”

  Rafe ran a hand through his hair. “Let’s table that discussion for now. I freaked out when I heard you’d been abducted, and waiting to hear you were okay was the longest week of my life.”

  “I’m so sorry you had to suffer with worry while I was being sold as a slave and shot. It must’ve been horrible for you.”

  Rafe rolled his eyes and smiled. “There’s the smartass sister I’ve missed so much. No matter how bitchy you are to me, I’m going to remain glad to see you. Grateful you’re alive to give me a hard time.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “I’ve done a lot of thinking and growing in the last eight years, about you and how Dad treated you. I’m sorry I didn’t stand up for you. I want my sister back.”

  “You never wanted me as your sister when you had me.”

  “I was raised by an asshole to be an asshole.” He reached out to touch Brie’s shoulder, but she flinched and leaned toward Bastian. He complied by putting his arm around her. He knew absolutely nothing about Rafe Prime, but it was possible the guy was genuine.

  “Can we take this conversation to some place more comfortable?” Rafe asked. “We need to talk. And not just about what happened eight years ago. We need to talk about Prime Energy.”

  “I don’t see why I would care. I’m not a part of Prime Energy anymore.”

  “Recent events could change that. Given all the press you’ve gotten these last weeks with the work you’ve been doing in South Sudan, the shareholders want you back. They’re ready to reinstate you and make you the face of Prime Energy, head the PR and community outreach team again. It’s why JJ’s so pissed. They want you to have his job. If you’ll take it.”

  “And what does Dad have to say about this?”

  He cleared his throat. “You might be wondering why you haven’t seen Dad on TV in the last few weeks—”

  “You mean besides the fact that I haven’t had a TV. Or given a fuck?”

  He grimaced. “Yeah, aside from that. We’ve been keeping it on the down low as we reorganize, but Dad had a stroke six weeks ago. A big one.”

  Brie took a step back, her eyes wide. “Is he alive? Conscious?”

  “Yes. But he can’t speak. Can’t walk. We’ve got the best doctors and physical therapists working with him, but…his prognosis isn’t good.” He frowned. “You can’t be mad we didn’t tell you. We tried to find you, but USAID wouldn’t disclose your location because you gave instructions we were not to be told where you were. I only learned you were in South Sudan when Uncle Al called and said you’d been abducted.”

  “So, who’s running Prime Energy?”

  “I am.”

  31

  Dinner with Rafe—JJ didn’t join them—was stilted, as Brie reeled from her brother’s news. Her dad was dying? The board of directors wanted her back in the business?

  And the question that nagged at her the most: did she want back in if her dad wasn’t part of the deal?

  When she walked away from Prime Energy, she’d believed it was final and had no regrets. But now—what if she could change things? What if she could make sure projects were done in ways that protected the environment? What if they gave more than lip service to environmental justice on the NEPA checklist?

  The board had to know there was no way she’d ever rubber-stamp their climate-change-denying lies again.

  If she took the job, she could steer the philanthropic budget. The money could buy sanitary underwear for girls in South Sudan and elsewhere, so they could get an education. She could build bathrooms at schools, so when girls had their period, it wouldn’t keep them home.

  She could do so much good with an annual budget of fifty million dollars—which was the minimum amount she’d demand from the board.

  After dinner, she and Bastian finished the house tour, including the Turkish bath on the lower level that led out to the pool area and gardens. Neither of them spoke about what Rafe had said until they returned to her bedroom. Inside with the door closed, Bastian said, “What are you going to do?”

  She drifted around the room, her gaze landing on but not seeing the vases and artwork some decorator had picked for this room twenty years ago. “I don’t know.”

  “I thought you hated your family. Hated the business.” There was an edge to Bastian’s voice. “And I thought you didn’t give a fuck about the money.”

  “I do. I do. And I don’t,” she replied, answering his statements in order.

  “But you’d go back at the first opportunity. You’d become Oil Company Barbie again. A Princess Prime reboot.”

  She turned to face him, hurt that he’d think she’d revert back to the woman she was ten years ago. “Why do you think I want to go back, Bastian?”

  He spread his arms wide to encompass the room. “Gee. I don’t know. Miss this much?” His gaze narrowed. “Admit it, you didn’t take me shopping because you thought I needed an upgrade for the mission. You did it because you want to fit in. You want me to fit in. Are you ashamed of me, Brie? Am I too…ethnic for you? How much do you miss the pretty clothes?”

  The disdain in his voice cut to her soft, pathetic core. “Fuck you, Bastian.”

  She made a beeline for the balcony. She needed air. She needed space. She hadn’t figured she’d still have to explain herself to Bastian. The things she’d done to redeem herself in the last eight years meant nothing to him, and he actually knew her.

  What about the people who didn’t know her? People who’d seen the headlines ten years ago about her drug use, and nothing since then. They’d think her work in South Sudan was a ruse for good PR. For her reemergence into the spotlight.

  As Bastian said, a Princess Prime Reboot.

  She couldn’t outrun her past. Couldn’t redeem herself. Couldn’t make up for the damage she’d done as a tool of Prime Energy. To all but a handful of people, she would always be nothing more than a vapid, selfish bitch of an heiress.

  She’d thought Bastian was one of the handful. That he hadn’t followed her onto the balcony proved he had no remorse for his words. Not that she expected him to.

  But still, it would have been nice.

  Clearly his “I love you” had just been a ploy. If he really loved her, he wouldn’t assume the worst at the first opportunity.

  The Atlantic breeze washed over her skin. Morocco had always been one of her favorite places. Sultry without being too hot. It was nothing like South Sudan or even Djibouti, although the country spilled into the Sahara. But the Djiboutian desert and the Sahara were vastly different.

  Here, the Atlas Mountains separated the ocean from the desert, and on this May evening, it was a soft seventy-two degrees after reaching a high of seventy-nine. Straight ahead—to the northwest—she looked over palm trees to the Atlantic Ocean, but due west was Drugov’s estate. She could only see a corner of his walled garden from her balcony. JJ’s room had a view in that direction. With binoculars, she might be able to ascertain if any of his outbuildings were occupied. It might be worthwhile to invade JJ’s quarters for that reason.

  It wasn’t like she could piss off her brother any more.

  But still, sneaking and spying weren’t exactly ideal. She shuddered at the thought, but she was going to have to reach out to Drugov tomorrow to get an invitation to his party. She rubbed her temples. What the hell was she doing here? She wasn’t a spy. Why had Savvy been so gung-ho to send her into this Sarlacc pit?

  Bastian couldn’t even look at Brie. He’d se
en the frisson of excitement that ran through her when her brother said she could reclaim her inheritance, and his stomach had fallen. She wanted it. She wanted back in the fold, to return to her previous life.

  Part of him couldn’t blame her—facing being sold in a market had to change a person, and in her case, it probably made her wish for the security she’d once known. But still, it gutted him to see that the woman he’d stupidly fallen for might not be the real Brie after all.

  She sat out on the balcony in the cooling evening for a long time. When she came inside, she washed the makeup from her face and changed into a silk nightgown—like the bikini, the garment was already in the wardrobe when they arrived—then without a word, she slipped into bed.

  Jesus, even her pajamas probably cost a day’s wages.

  Where was the woman who’d talked about making underwear out of an old tarp? She’d been discarded somewhere between here and Djibouti, apparently.

  He crawled into bed beside her, wearing an Army T-shirt and cheap pair of boxer briefs. The expensive sheets were probably cringing at his low-class sleepwear. He switched off the bedside light. This was not how he’d imagined their first night in this bed would go, but the last thing on his mind now was sex.

  “Has it even occurred to you that I might take the job because of the good I could do?” she asked softly, her voice the only sensory interruption in the pitch-black and silent room.

  “Of course it did. And if that’s your reason for thinking you want it, you’re deluding yourself.”

  “God, you’re a judgmental ass.” Her voice was more angry than hurt. “Pray tell how I’m deluding myself.”

  “I’m not judgmental. I’m honest. With myself and with you. And if you’re telling yourself you can change a damn thing at Prime Energy, you’re lying, to me and to yourself. You can’t change corporate culture. You can’t change the board of directors. They just want to use you for PR and spit you out again. And you’re willing to let them. Why, Brie? Why on earth would you trust a board that only wants you back so they can use you? Why do you want to work for a company that has screwed over indigenous people all over the world? A company that denies climate change. A company that destroys lives and works with people like Drugov.

  “Jesus, have you forgotten what you’ve told me your father did? He wanted you to fuck Drugov to seal a deal. JJ’s clearly of the same mind, and you don’t know if you can believe Rafe. But suddenly you’re going to trust them? Because now they’re going to listen to a woman they bought with a big salary and expense account? They see you as a fool they can manipulate. And if you take the job, that’s exactly what you’ll be.”

  Brie felt sucker punched by Bastian’s harsh words. Not because they were mean, but because…he might be right.

  In the hours since Rafe had first outlined the offer, she’d mentally spun a tale in which she was able to magically correct all the wrongs her father had committed and save the world…at least a little bit.

  But why? Why had she created that fantasy?

  Fantasy was all it could ever be. Deep in her gut, she knew that. A man who’d been willing to pimp out his own daughter to close a deal wasn’t going to magically become a philanthropist. And even if he remained out of the picture, her brothers were all about the money. They always had been. Her dad had never had qualms about cheating people to increase his profit margins, even if it was only a negligible amount, and he’d raised his boys to be the same way.

  He’d lived for the score, closing the big deal. And he was willing to associate with anyone—even Russian Mafioso—if it meant increasing his net worth. The company was hopelessly intertwined with Russian money and shady deals. And she couldn’t forget that she knew deep in her soul her dad had killed Micah, and it was possible JJ and Rafe knew about it.

  So why did she convince herself that she could do good work at Prime Energy?

  She’d been searching for justification to take the job.

  But why? Was it like Bastian believed, because she wanted to be rich again? Did she want her New York penthouse back? Did she miss the clothes and attention that came with being Gabriella Prime?

  She didn’t think so. Money was convenient and could be fun, but she’d been more content in the years after she was cast out. She’d been able to stay clean because, for the first time in her adult life, she didn’t need to self-medicate. She’d managed to stop hating herself.

  She’d had friends and a fulfilling academic life, and later work life.

  So what did she want? What pathetic part of her wanted back in the family?

  Was it the ache caused by Rafe, the good brother, actually being nice to her? She suspected that was the culprit more than a desire to wear stilettos and Dior every day.

  She wanted to believe her brother really loved her. That she could find a place within her family. That she wouldn’t be alone anymore.

  She cleared her throat and spoke into the darkness that separated them across the large bed. “Do you have any siblings, Bastian?”

  “I did. My younger sister died eleven years ago—we think she was texting and driving.”

  His answer made her ache with sympathy. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Lily’s death was one of the reasons it was hard for me to break up with Cece. She was there for my parents when they needed her, and then they…glommed on to her. Not as a replacement—no one could replace Lily—but a comfort. A beautiful strong Indian girl with a bright future. Cece was hope for them. Hope they’d have a daughter-in-law to love. Hope I’d give them grandkids.”

  Unsaid was the fact that his parents would hate Brie. Especially if she returned to Prime Energy. That caused another mental ache.

  If she and Bastian somehow found a way to ford the gulf between them, there wouldn’t be a new family who would embrace and love her in the absence of her own. His parents would hate her. She would never live up to Cece. And she’d just drive another wedge between him and the people who mattered most in his world.

  She swiped at the tear that spilled down her cheek and hoped he wouldn’t hear the pain in her voice. “If your family had cut you off for years and suddenly you had a chance to be loved by one of them again, would you be able to turn your back on the offer?”

  “They aren’t offering to love you again, Brie. It’s a job. Nothing more.”

  “You don’t get it. My family doesn’t know how to love. This job offer is as close as it gets.”

  “And it was made by the board of directors. And JJ’s pissed about it.”

  “I know that. And logically, I know my father—if he recovers—will still never love me, no matter what I do. I also know that I hate him and I never want to see him again, that I’m not grieving his illness. But still, deep down inside, I will always be that nine-year-old girl who wonders why her daddy doesn’t love her. The girl who tried modeling at thirteen because then maybe her father would notice and be proud. The girl who started using drugs at fifteen, because the daily belittling remarks hurt too much without them. I can’t change that about me any more than you can change the pain of having your parents appear to prefer your ex-girlfriend over you.

  “Rafe was always my good brother. Still an asshole, but he…seemed to care. Do you have any idea how much it scared me to have Rafe talk to me like he missed me? Like he cared? It woke every vulnerable insecurity. What if I could have a brother? A family member who would maybe love me? I want it. And I hate myself for wanting it.”

  The tears were flowing freely now, and she just let them. To hell with protecting herself from Bastian. She had no shields left to employ. “I don’t get to be myself with people much. My coworkers in South Sudan didn’t even know who I was. I hold myself at a distance because people will judge me, like you did the night we first met. Like you’re judging me tonight. So I don’t tell them. But if I had a brother at least he would get me. He knows how awful it is to grow up with Jeff Senior as a dad and JJ as a brother. If I had a brother again, then there would be one person on t
his planet who loved me. The real me. Even if it’s only because he has to.”

  “I love you, Brie. I’ve told you that already. Twice. Three times now.”

  “Do you really? Because you sure were quick to assume I’m shallow tonight. And you were even faster to betray my confidence without so much as a heads-up.”

  He was silent for a long time.

  Brie climbed from the bed and crossed to the bathroom to grab a box of tissues. She closed the door and turned on the light. A glance in the mirror showed she looked like hell, eyes puffy and red. Runny nose. Cheeks blotchy.

  When she was Princess Prime she’d been too cold in her emotions to ever break down like this. But then, she’d also attempted to control her emotions with pharmaceuticals. She sat on the edge of the tub, blotted her cheeks, and blew her nose. She needed to get her shit together. She and Bastian had several days ahead of them and a job to do. Getting caught up in heartache would only hinder them.

  She needed to be a coldhearted bitch like Princess Prime again, but this time without the alcohol and drugs. No more showing Bastian her vulnerable side, and she sure as hell couldn’t let JJ or Rafe know they had the power to hurt her.

  She was here to expose a general who pushed his people into famine so he could seize power, and to bring down the oligarch who sold children to line his pockets.

  Nothing else mattered.

  32

  If it weren’t for years of training as a Special Forces operator, Bastian would never have been able to sleep. As it was, he didn’t sleep deeply. Beside him, Brie tossed and turned, but she managed to accumulate a few hours’ rest.

  Now the woman who faced him across the breakfast table—served in her private quarters—had a chilly demeanor, a new incarnation of Brie. She’d showered, dried and styled her short hair, and applied makeup. She’d dressed in an airy sundress that he guessed was vacation chic.

  He’d heard her sobs as she sat in the bathroom last night, and he knew he’d hurt her—again—but at the same time, he wasn’t ready to admit he was wrong in his assumption. She hadn’t talked about her brothers prior to the planning of this op, and she certainly hadn’t hinted that one of them could be less than pure evil. But even still, he should have guessed that there was more loneliness and hurt in her attitude toward her brothers than there was hate.