A/N This is so much fun to write. I love you all for getting so involved in this story and I can't thank you enough for all the story alerts and reviews. Totally blown away by the response :) Now if only I can figure out what to do with my time now that the summer season has finished...ideas?

Chapter 13

Auggie threw himself into learning his new position, trying to keep his mind off Annie. The job itself was actually fascinating. He was able to use his charm and way with words to make people trust him – and he didn't even have to lie to them. It was refreshing after so many years of secrecy.

He loved having the opportunity to interact with some of the smartest minds in the country. Well, that, and the few congressmen who got voted in on what must have been false pretenses since they were utterly clueless about how the world around them worked. On them he sharpened his sarcasm, testing to see what he could get away with. Turns out he could get away with quite a bit actually. Auggie grinned at that thought. There was one young British diplomat in particular who he was sure had only received his job because of daddy's purse strings. One Mr. David Brighton. It was intriguing to see that nepotism was still alive and well in the upper circles of power. Unfortunately he was also slimy, charming, and good looking. Definitely going to be his main competition in this social group. Nothing he couldn't handle of course. Stealing all the prettiest girls away from Brighton was his new hobby.

Tonight he was representing the CIA at a fundraising Gala. Which, as far as he could tell, was a fancy excuse for everyone to get dressed up and drink expensive wine? He wasn't complaining – it meant gorgeous girls in silky dresses. He leaned against the bar comfortably and listened around the room to hear where the pretty girls were congregated. Or, more precisely, he listened for the sound of fawning males throwing compliments at the most beautiful girls with a lack of subtlety that might well cause blunt weapon trauma. He owed it to the girls to rescue them from such tactless buffoons.

He was just starting to immerse himself in an enjoyable conversation with an eastern European brunette when he heard a voice that made him freeze. Annie? What was she doing here? Closer to the point, what was she doing making flirtatious chit-chat with his arch-rival? From what he could overhear she was now the "Special Advisor for the Congressional Acquisition of Art." A promotion from her job at the Smithsonian. He was going to KILL Joan for this.

The worst part was that he couldn't even cut in and steal her away from him. As far as anyone knew, he and Annie had no connection to each other. Interrupting would make it obvious that he knew her, putting her life at risk. Which, ultimately was the reason he had asked Joan to make sure Annie moved on. Her safety.

Seriously though, there was only so much a guy could handle. As he heard Annie giggle and accept the offer of a drink from David Brighton he decided he had had enough. Maybe there was a way around this. He was pretty sure Annie would play along if he pretended not to know her; she had to in order to maintain her cover. As soon as he heard the pretentious interloper leave to get her drink he made his way over to her section of the room, pretending to be looking for something.

"You look lost; can I help you find someone?" Annie's voice. He smiled.

"Actually I was looking for the restroom but did you know that you have an oddly mesmerizing voice?" She laughed and touched the back of his hand in a gesture of introduction. He grasped her hand firmly and shook it.

"I'm Annie Walker, Special Advisor for the Congressional Acquisition of Art." Yes, this had Joan written all over it. Maybe he would get someone to burn her coffee tomorrow in payback. Nonetheless, he would work with this situation. He turned his most charming grin on Annie. Not the private one he reserved for her only, but the public one he gave to all the girls he convinced to fall in love with him on the spot. It gave away nothing about his true feelings.

"That's quite the title Ms. Walker. Auggie Anderson, Head of the Office of Congressional Affairs."

"Oh I've heard of you, everyone has." She was actually gushing. Over him. He was going to tease her mercilessly about this later.

"So that guy who just went to get you a drink, is he your boyfriend?" He heard her clothes rustle as she shifted uncomfortable. But her words were chirpy when she replied.

"No, he and I are just friends – I've been helping his embassy with their art collection. Why, do you think he likes me?" She sounded eager. Too eager. What, had he just been demoted to the gay friend over a period of two weeks or something. Surely she was aware that he was in love with her. He thought he had made it pretty clear. Then again, he had also asked Joan to make sure she moved on with her life. Apparently Mr. Brighton was the price he had to pay for that decision.

He had known he wouldn't like the guy from the beginning day one but his vague distaste for the man had sharpened into full-blown jealous hatred within minutes. Even though he had no right to be jealous. Annie could date whoever she wanted to, he had given up all claim on her affections when he left her crying on the CIA rooftop. She deserved to be happy, even if it wasn't with him. So he would grin and bear it, and make this as easy on her as he could. He grinned easily at her,

"A guy would have to be blind not to like you Ms. Walker." He was pleased at how successfully he managed to keep all jealousy out of his tone. Maybe he shouldn't throw out his black op's deception training just yet.

As he heard the return of David Brighton's pointy toed Italian shoes he decided it was time to bow out. If Annie wanted to date the buffoon it was her choice. He had made his choice and this was just a natural consequence. Well, part natural, part Joan-inflicted. He had a few choice words to say to her about her methods of 'respecting his decisions.' He grinned and nodded at David in acknowledgement of his existence. It grated on him, but the old adage was true, friends close, enemies closer. Just, preferably not close enough to hear the woman he loved flirting with him.

"Where did you say the restroom was Ms. Walker?" He asked politely, in a tone befitting that of a new acquaintance.

"You were heading the right direction, keep going straight then turn left when you hit the wall. It's in the left-hand corner of the ballroom. It was nice to meet you Mr. Anderson." She knew he hated it when people called him that. Unfortunately his usual resort when she was being deliberately inflammatory was to tickle her until she begged for mercy. Clearly not an option right now. Instead he replied with the utmost civility.

"It was a pleasure to meet you too Ms. Walker." The words felt furry and disgusting in his mouth. What he really wanted to say was more along the lines of 'please let me know if Mr. Brighton tries anything so I can knock him out." Again, not an option. He sighed as he walked away, it was going to be a long night. Where had that brunette he was talking to before gone?