For as long as Oliver could remember, playing midfielder had been all Callum ever wanted. He’d practiced constantly as a kid. He’d made it to the top of his profession, and now, at age twenty-eight, that part of his life was over. Tori had advised him to give Callum a high-profile position within the company. Given both his brother’s contacts in entertainment and his charm, she’d suggested marketing. Remembering the debacle of his brother’s school years, Oliver had immediately shoved him somewhere he couldn’t do too much damage—the director in name only of the corporation’s charity wing. Thurston-Hughes had a long history of donating to good causes, specifically London’s children’s charities. It had been his mother’s lifelong passion.
If what Callum said about the charity ball was true, maybe he’d found another calling.
“I’m looking forward to it, but we must present a united front when the press asks about the paternity suit.” Oliver wished he could forget or ignore this unpleasantry, but they’d been planning this fundraiser for months and everyone looking for a scoop would attend. Hopefully the press—and the stockholders—would take note if the family united behind Callum. “In a bit, let’s ask Tori what we should and shouldn’t say when asked. Then tonight, you’ll move into the corporate housing. It’s got decent security. And stay away from this mad woman. In a couple of weeks, we can escape on holiday and head out to the countryside. Until then, let’s all keep a low profile.” Oliver frowned. “Callum, please tell me you’re not bringing someone new to the fundraiser.”
Twin flags of red stained his face. “I was planning to.”
“Don’t. The last thing we need is for you to be seen with another woman when you’ve supposedly already got one pregnant.”
“Fine, but I’m ready to move on with my life. I’m not waiting forever. Tell me when we’re meeting with Tori.” Callum stood to leave and headed for the door, looking back at Oliver. “None of us blames you. What happened with Yasmin was terrible, but none of it was your fault. I’ll do whatever I can to help right this ship.”
The door closed behind him, and Rory stood. “I will, too. I’ll be in my office if you need me.”
Oliver was left alone with his sister. He rather wished she’d left with the lads.
“What are you doing, Ollie?” She moved across the room, settling into the chair by his desk.
He flipped open a binder. “I’m reading through the latest R&D reports.”
“That isn’t what I meant, and you know it.” She crossed her legs at the ankle, every bit the elegant British lady. “You weren’t in a pub fight. If you’re going to lie, at least get your facts straight. The pub you mentioned was closed that evening due to a small fire in the kitchen.”
He stared at his sister—not as a brother, but as a man who didn’t like having his secrets pried into. “You checked up on me?”
“I have to. You lie. And before you tell me it’s none of my business, consider that you’ve just been grilling Callum and Rory about their personal lives. Now you weren’t in a pub fight that evening. Tell me what really happened.”
He didn’t want to give Claire anything else to worry about. “Nothing.”
“You sent that man to the hospital.” She bounced her Prada heel against the plush carpet as she spoke, almost punctuating her every accusation. “I started to put it together a few days ago. I watched you follow Tori after work. I didn’t mean to. I happened to be on the street when I noticed her walking toward Westminster Station, then saw you dash after her. I was curious since you’d said not half an hour before that you were heading home. You never go home that way. Imagine my surprise when you got on the Line 12 bus. She didn’t see you, did she? At first, I thought you two had some kind of assignation planned.”
Oliver felt the blood drain from his face. “Did you follow me?”
“Yes, in a taxi.”
“Tell me you stayed in the cab.”
“I would love to, but I’m afraid my curiosity got the better of me.”
“You walked around Peckham by yourself?”
“Never mind that.” Claire waved him off. “That thug was waiting for Tori, Oliver. It wasn’t random, but you knew that. Right? You were following her because you knew she was in danger.”
Her words nearly knocked Oliver over. He’d known no such thing.
“What do you mean he was waiting for Tori?” He’d seen the man creep up behind her. “She said she’d intended to visit a friend and got lost. She went down the wrong street and ended up in an alley where a predator awaited some unsuspecting prey.”
Claire reared back. “You didn’t notice that man followed her from Westminster on to the bus and then off when they reached Peckham?”
He hadn’t noticed anything but Tori. He’d been utterly fixated on her until the big man with the knife had crept after her in the alley. “How did he get between us?”
“He seemed to know the area. Somehow, he beat you there.” She shook her head. “If you weren’t trying to protect Tori, then why were you following her, Oliver?”
He didn’t have a reply and tried to answer his sister’s question with a shrug.
She pursed her lips in displeasure. “I was shocked by what you did to that man. When did you learn to fight like that?”