His Best Friend's Sister. Sarah M. Anderson
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realizing that her father was nothing but a glorified con artist?
When Oliver didn’t say anything, she glanced back up at him. His jaw was hard and there was something dangerous in his eyes. “Okay,” he said. “Your father bilked investors out of a lot of money. I’m going to guess that your brother had something to do with it?”
“Of course.” She sighed. “Clint and my husband were both involved.”
Abruptly, Oliver stepped back. “I’m sorry I missed your wedding. How long have you been married?”
“I’m not anymore.” She took another deep breath and squared her shoulders. She wouldn’t let this fact hurt her. She wouldn’t let Chet hurt her, not ever again. “Chet Willoughby is dead.”
Oliver recoiled another step as if she’d slapped him and then turned and began to pace. “I understand that it is unforgettably rude to ask, but are you...” He waved toward her midsection.
She almost smiled. After the last two months, his apologetic question was the least rude thing she’d heard. “Four and a half months.”
Oh, the press had had a field day with that. Preston Pyramid Princess Pregnant! had blared from every newspaper and website for days. Weeks. The media loved a good alliterative headline.
Oliver burrowed his fingers in his hair, causing his brown hair to stand up almost on end. “Right. Your family’s fortune was stolen, and your husband, who worked for your criminal father, is dead, and he left you pregnant. Am I missing anything?”
The fact that there was no judgment in his voice, no sneering or laughter—that was when Renee realized she’d made the right choice. Even if Chloe wasn’t here, getting out of New York was the best thing she could have done. She could breathe in Texas. That’s all she wanted. Just enough space to breathe again. “Those are the basics. Oh, my mother took what was left of the money and ran away to Paris. That might be an important detail.”
It was an extremely important detail to the authorities.
“Yes, I can see how that might be significant.” He launched a wobbly smile at her, as if he couldn’t tell if he should laugh or not. When she couldn’t so much as manage a chuckle, he leaned against his desk and pinched the bridge of his nose.
If she’d had any other options, she wouldn’t be here. He’d looked like he was already having a terrible day and that was before she unloaded her tale of woe upon him. Her life wasn’t his responsibility.
But she had no place else to go. Getting permission to come to Texas had used all of her remaining political capital.
“Did you know about the scheme?”
She shook her head. “I am fully cooperating with the investigation. The authorities know where I am and I may be summoned back to New York at any time. I am not allowed to leave the country under any circumstance.” That had been the deal. She didn’t have much testimony to offer because her parents had maintained that Renee’s entire job was to make the family look good. Her appearance was the only thing of value about her. At the time, it had bothered her deeply. How could her own father look at her and see nothing but a pretty face? How could he ignore her and leave her to her mother?
But now? Now she was glad that her father had kept her separate from his business dealings. It was literally the only thing keeping her out of prison.
Her main value to the authorities at this point was convincing her brother to testify against their father. And Clint was in no hurry to do that. He was holding out for a better deal.
Oliver studied her closely, his arms crossed and his hair wild. He stared for so long that she was afraid he was going to kick her out, tell her to go back to New York and deal with this mess by herself. And she couldn’t. She just couldn’t. If Oliver wouldn’t help her, she’d...
She’d go find Chloe. Not for the first time, she wished that her so-called friends in New York hadn’t turned on her. Because really, what kind of friends were they? The kind who went running to the gossip websites, eager to spill anything that would make the Preston family look worse than they already did. Not a single one had stood by her. She’d been neatly cut out of her social circle, an object of derision and scorn.
So if Oliver called security, it really wouldn’t be that different. She wouldn’t blame him at all. She was nothing to him, except maybe a distant childhood memory.
“You need to hide?” he asked just as she had given up hope.
“Yes,” she said, her heart beginning to pound faster.
He shook his head and muttered something she didn’t catch, something about Clint, maybe? Then he looked at her and said, “I’m sorry about your husband.”
One should not speak ill of the dead. It was one of the last things her mother had said to Renee before she’d disappeared with three million dollars of other people’s money. But Renee couldn’t help the bitter laugh that escaped her. “I’m not.”
He thought on that for a moment, his gaze lingering on her stomach. Her skin flushed warm under his gaze. Stupid hormones. Oliver Lawrence was not interested in her. No one in their right mind would give her a second glance.
In fact, it was definitely a mistake that she’d come. She was toxic to everyone and everything surrounding her. Here he was, a good man, and she’d all but thrown herself at his feet.
She was desperate. But she hoped the taint of Preston scandals didn’t smear him.
Please don’t lie to me, she found herself praying. Even if the truth were brutal—like he was going to throw her out—all she wanted from him was the truth. She couldn’t handle another person looking her in the eye and telling a bald-faced lie.
“All right,” he said, pushing off the desk and crossing to her. He put his hands on her shoulders, but he didn’t draw her in. He just looked at her and even though it was a risk to him for her to be here, she still knew she’d made the right choice—especially when he said, “Let’s get you hidden.”
He did not have time for this. He was skipping out on important meetings that were guaranteed to draw his father out from his hunting lodge and stick his nose back into Lawrence Energies’s business—and for what?
To rescue a damsel in distress. There was no other way to describe Renee. She had one piece of luggage: a carry-on suitcase. That was it. If she was going to be here longer than a week, he was going to need to arrange for her to get some more clothes.
“Is it very far away?” she asked, sounding drained.
He was not a gambling man, but he was willing to bet that Renee was going to be here for much more than a week. “We’re going to Red Oak Hill,” he told her as they drove away from the Lawrence Energies corporate headquarters on McKinney Avenue and in the opposite direction of his condo on Turtle Creek. “It’s my private ranch. The traffic’s not too bad this time of day, so we should be there in less than an hour and a half.” By Dallas standards, that was practically right next door.
“Oh,” she said, slumping down in her seat.
“The way I see it,” he said, trying to be pragmatic, “you have two choices. You can either rest on the drive out or you can explain in a little more detail what’s going on.” Because he thought he had a decent grasp on the basics. Corrupt family, financial ruin, dead husband, four and a half months pregnant.
But a lot of details were missing. He’d told Bailey on his way out to pull up what he could find on the Preston fraud case and send him the links. He’d read them when he got to the ranch. He couldn’t help Renee unless he knew what the extenuating circumstances were.
She made an unladylike groaning noise that worried him. “I still can’t believe you haven’t caught