She stamped her designer heel. "I don't need an invite. My future husband is Callum Thurston-Hughes. You will allow me in this instant."
Ah, the young and delusional. He looked her over for a moment. Thea Palmer was an "actress." She'd landed small roles in three films and large spreads as a page-three girl before she'd taken the plunge and gone under the knife. Between the lip enhancements and the overly large breasts that looked ready to pop at any moment, she'd probably spent everything she had on surgeons. Besides being "enhanced," she had absolutely no education whatsoever. So naturally, his younger brother had thought she'd make a proper bedmate.
According to the reports Oliver had received on her, she'd most recently landed a small role on a show in America that had been canceled after only three episodes. She'd returned to England and apparently decided that Cal was her meal ticket.
By contrast, Tori was smart. A few weeks back, they'd had a long talk about politics, and she'd known far more about European systems of government than he'd imagined. Discussions with her were a pure pleasure. He found himself engaging intellectually in a way he hadn't since university. He'd debated with her for nearly two hours, their easy camaraderie making the time fly by. He'd been shocked when he'd finally glanced at the clock. He usually felt the weight of time … except when she looked at him with her soft blue eyes and that smile that lit up the world.
The woman in front of him had absolutely none of Tori's easy intelligence. His publicist handled people with a deft hand. This woman used a hatchet.
"I'll have your bloody job, I will." She stared up at the guard.
"What seems to be the problem?" Oliver stepped out from the hallway and into her line of vision for the first time.
Her eyes widened. "Mr. Thurston-Hughes, thank goodness. Please speak with your guard. There seems to be a mistake."
Out of the corner of his eyes, Oliver saw an intrepid twenty-something woman in a modest black dress designed to help her blend in. As she loitered around the guard station, he recognized her as a reporter from The Sun. Damn. She likely intended to snap pictures of the celebrities coming and going, but the minute she realized the drama playing out here, Callum and Thea's "love child" would be front page news. Again.
And Tori would be furious.
He wanted to throw Thea out, but the chit would likely find the reporters stalking about and give them a tearful story about how the man who had fathered her child was dancing the night away while she was left on the streets to fend for herself.
He should have thrashed Callum more thoroughly. His unruly cock had landed them all in trouble.
"Come with me, Ms. Palmer." He unlatched the velvet rope and allowed her to pass through. He couldn't miss the look of triumph on her face as she passed the guard. Oliver shook the uniformed man's hand. "Thank you. You did well. I'll handle her from here."
The guard leaned over. "Be careful, sir. She walked up with a man who looked a bit thuggish to me. He disappeared once she got close. I don't think she wanted me to see him."
Oliver nodded. "Keep an eye out for him. And don't hesitate to work with the al Mussad guards." Of course, they'd brought their own. "They're some of the best in the world."
He turned back and had to hustle to catch up with his prey. She wasn't lollygagging about, waiting to talk to him. She marched straight for the ballroom, likely prepared to hunt down Callum and cause a scene-along with massive problems for the whole family.
Luckily, Rory blocked her path before she could rush in. "Hello."
Thea eyed him as though weighing whether she could rush past him.
Oliver intended to shut down that line of thinking. "Why don't you join us in the office? We'll have a good chat."
He tried to sound non-threatening, friendly even. Surely he could manage that for a few minutes. If they could pass the evening with only minimal damage, Tori might not even have to know anything had happened at all. She might believe the Thurston-Hughes brothers could make it through one night without being at the center of a tabloid-worthy story.
Thea's eyes narrowed. "He's in there with that whore, isn't he?"
And just like that, Oliver abandoned the non-threatening approach. "You had better not be talking about the woman I think you are."
Her lips curled up in a smirk. "She might be related by marriage to Middle Eastern royalty, but that pathetic American is nothing more than a whore looking to elevate herself."
"That's the pot calling the kettle black," Rory said under his breath, scanning the area. "Oliver, we should move this somewhere private."
When Oliver glanced behind him, he winced. Sure enough, the reporter from The Sun was talking to the guard. She wouldn't get anything out of him, but if Thea didn't keep her voice down, that professional gossip in the black dress would hear far too much.