His Best Friend's Sister

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.”

Two (#u15177143-8269-56b5-bbfc-eaad95f170ec)

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 at least some of this on the news.”

Worrying about her was pointless. He was doing the best he could, given the situation. Bailey had canceled his meetings for the rest of the day and had been given instructions in case anyone came sniffing around—and that included Milt Lawrence, Oliver’s father. No one was to know about Miss Preston or Mrs. Willoughby or Ms. Preston-Willoughby.

“We’re acquiring a pump manufacturer, the rodeo season just kicked off and my father is out of his ever-loving mind,” Oliver said, trying to keep the conversation lighthearted. “I’ve been busy.”

Besides, none of the Lawrence Energies family fortune was invested in Preston Investment Strategies—or their damned pyramid scheme. And he would know, since he had wrestled financial control of Lawrence Energies away from his father four years ago.

“Is he really?”

Oliver shrugged. “There are days I wonder.” His father was only sixty years old—by no means a doddering old man. But the midlife crisis that had been touched off by the death of Trixie Lawrence had never really resolved itself.

He could’ve explained all about that, but she wasn’t here to listen to him complain about his family. She was here because she was in trouble.

Look after Renee, will you?

He should have replied with questions to Clint’s email then. If he had, he might have answers now.

He waited. Out of the corner of his eyes, he could see her rubbing her thumbnail with her index finger, the constant circle of motion. Otherwise, she seemed calm.

Too calm.

Oliver did not consider himself the family expert on women. That honor went to Chloe, who was actually a woman—although Flash, their younger brother, gave Chloe a run for her money.

Nevertheless, he had grown up with Chloe and a healthy interest in women. He was not comfortable with the idea of Renee crying, but he was prepared for the worst.

She surprised him with a chuckle. “A lot of it is in the news.”

Knowing Bailey, Oliver would have several hours of reading material waiting for him, so there was no point in making her relate something he could just as easily read—with a healthy sense of detachment, instead of listening to her shaky voice and fighting this strange urge to protect her.

“Tell me the part that’s not in the news.”

“The part that’s not in the news,” she said softly, still rubbing her thumbnail anxiously. “You know, I don’t think my husband was ever faithful to me.”

O...kay. “Then why did you marry him?”

“My parents said we looked good together. He worked for my father and my mother thought we’d have gorgeous babies, as if that was the only thing that mattered. He was suave and sophisticated and hot. We were featured on the Vanity Fair weddings page online. ‘A Storybook Dream’ was the name of our photo essay.” She laughed, but it definitely wasn’t a happy sound. “I wanted a small ceremony, but no. I had to have ten bridesmaids and the craziest party favors ever.” He lifted an eyebrow at her without taking his eyes off the road. “Oh, yes. Everyone got a custom engraved pair of Waterford crystal champagne glasses, a bottle of Dom Pérignon with a custom label and a Tiffany & Co. silver ice bucket engraved with our names and wedding date, as if people cared.” She sighed heavily.

It wasn’t that the elite in Dallas couldn’t be just as ostentatious in their displays of wealth—they could. Hell, his condo was worth a few million alone and the ranch was easily worth twice that. Dallas was not a two-bit town by any stretch of the imagination.

But it was different here. As cutthroat as Dallas high society could be, there was just more heart in Texas.

He must have been having one hell of an off day if he was mentally defending this state. He hoped his father never found out that there were things Oliver actually liked about the Lone Star State. “It sounds a tad over-the-top.”

“Oh, it was—but it was a beautiful wedding. Just beautiful,” she murmured and he remembered what she’d said.

It was a lie. Her husband had never loved her, never been faithful.

“I am such an idiot,” she said miserably, and that bothered him. Strange how it did. He hadn’t thought of her in so long but now that she was here, he found he needed to do something.

“Hardly. You were always smart enough to get the drop on me and Clint, weren’t you? I’m thinking of a specific incident involving water balloons off a balcony. Remember?”

That got him a shadow of a smile. “That was Chloe’s idea—but I did have pretty good aim.”