- -
- 100%
- +
He’s always played by his family’s rules.
Until he plays house with his best friend’s sister.
Rodeo mogul Oliver Lawrence can’t say no to his best friend’s sister, pregnant widow Renee Preston. When the innocent beauty needs refuge from the tabloids, he offers his penthouse—and his bed. The passion between them is anything but innocent. And soon Oliver must choose: protect his family from her scandal or stand by the woman he can’t let go...
SARAH M. ANDERSON may live east of the Mississippi River, but her heart lies out West on the Great Plains. Sarah’s book A Man of Privilege won an RT Book Reviews Reviewers’ Choice Best Book Award in 2012. The Nanny Plan was a 2016 RITA® Award winner for Contemporary Romance: Short.
Sarah spends her days having conversations with imaginary cowboys and billionaires. Find out more about Sarah’s heroes at www.sarahmanderson.com
Also by Sarah M. Anderson
Not the Boss’s Baby
Tempted by a Cowboy
A Beaumont Christmas
His Son, Her Secret
Falling for Her Fake Fiancé
His Illegitimate Heir
Rich Rancher for Christmas
His Best Friend’s Sister
Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk
His Best Friend’s Sister
Sarah M. Anderson
www.millsandboon.co.uk
ISBN: 978-1-474-07635-7
HIS BEST FRIEND’S SISTER
© 2018 Sarah M. Anderson
Published in Great Britain 2018
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.
® and ™ are trademarks owned and used by the trademark owner and/or its licensee. Trademarks marked with ® are registered with the United Kingdom Patent Office and/or the Office for Harmonisation in the Internal Market and in other countries.
www.millsandboon.co.uk
To the ladies of the YMCA water aerobics classes. Twice a week, you all listen to me babble about plot points and encourage me to keep moving, even on days when I hurt. Thanks for all your support and for laughing at my silly stories!
Contents
Cover
Back Cover Text
About the Author
Booklist
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Epilogue
Extract
One
“I thought you hated the rodeo.”
That voice—Oliver Lawrence knew that sweet voice. Except it was richer, deeper. It sparked memories—memories of smiling, laughing. Of having fun. When was the last time he’d had fun?
He couldn’t remember.
“But here you are, surrounded by pictures of the rodeo,” she went on. He could hear the smile as she spoke. She’d always smiled at him. Even when he hadn’t deserved it.
Oliver jerked his head up from where it had been buried in his hands. It wasn’t possible. She wasn’t possible.
But there Renee Preston stood, just inside the door to his office as she studied the framed pictures of the All-Stars that Bailey had artfully arranged along one wall of the office.
Although her back was to him, he was stunned to realize that he recognized her anyway. The pale gold of her hair fell halfway down her back in artful waves, the curve of her backside outlined by a dark blue dress.
How long had it been? Years? He shouldn’t even recognize her, much less have this visceral reaction to her. Seeing her now was a punch to the gut, one that left him dazed and breathless. And all he could think was, I hope she’s real. Which made no sense. None at all. But given the headaches he’d had running Lawrence Energies—why were Mondays so awful?—he wouldn’t be surprised if his sanity had taken a breather.
He stared but she didn’t move. Bad sign. “Renee?” He blinked and then blinked again when she didn’t turn around.
Okay, he was having a bad morning. Because the truth was he did hate the rodeo—the Lawrence Oil All-Around All-Stars Pro Rodeo. He’d hated it ever since his father had won the circuit in a poker game thirteen years ago. But there weren’t many people who knew it. It was bad for business if the CEO of Lawrence Energies, parent company of Lawrence Oil—and, by default, the All-Stars—publicly announced how much he hated his products.
So how did Renee know?
His assistant, Bailey, came charging into the room, looking flustered. Finally Renee moved, tilting her head to look at him. “Mr. Lawrence—I’m sorry,” Bailey said, breathing hard. He gave Renee an accusing look. “She’s quick.”
Thank God Oliver wasn’t hallucinating the arrival of the last person he’d expected to see today. Renee Preston was actually in his office in Dallas in the middle of a Monday morning.
“It’s all—”
But just then, Renee turned the rest of the way around and Oliver got a look at her in profile. Her little button nose, her sweetheart chin, her gently rounded stomach that curved out from the rest of her body...
Wait.
Was she pregnant?
Slowly, Oliver stood. “Renee, what’s going on?”
Bailey hung his head. “Should I call security?”
Oliver waved away. “No, it’s fine. Ms. Preston and I are old friends.” That was not exactly the truth. Her brother, Clinton, was an old friend. Renee had always been an obnoxious little sister who, when she teamed up with Oliver’s sister, Chloe, had been a real pain in the butt.
The full impact of her appearance hit him. She gave him a soft little smile that barely moved a muscle on her face. He didn’t like that smile. It felt unnatural somehow.
He looked at her dress again. Maybe it wasn’t dark blue. Maybe it was black. She looked like she’d decided to stop by his office—some fifteen hundred miles away from New York City—on her way to a funeral.
“No calls,” Oliver said to Bailey. If Renee Preston was here, wearing a funereal dress while pregnant, something had gone wrong.
Suddenly, he remembered the email from Clint Preston. Had it been two months ago? Or three? Ever since Oliver’s father, Milt, had uprooted the family from their Park Avenue address in New York City and relocated them to Dallas, Oliver and Clint hadn’t exactly kept up a friendship. But he remembered now—that odd email that had been sent at four in the morning. Look after Renee, will you?
Oliver had never replied. He’d meant to, but...honestly, he’d been confused. Why did he have to look after Renee? She had a family. She was a grown woman. It hadn’t seemed urgent, not at this time.
Clearly, it was urgent now.
Just when he thought things couldn’t get any worse, they did. Served him right for thinking that in the first place.
“Actually,” she said after Bailey had closed the door after him, “it’s Renee Preston-Willoughby now.”
Instead of pulling his hair out, he attempted to smile at Renee. “Congratulations. I hadn’t heard.” Although...hadn’t Chloe said something about Renee getting hitched? It’d been a few years ago and Oliver had been in the middle of what was basically a corporate takeover of the business from his father.
That particular piece of information did nothing to shine a light on why she was in his office. He hadn’t seen her since...
Five years ago at her brother’s wedding? And Renee had still been in college. He remembered being curious because she hadn’t been the same little girl in pigtails.
In fact, she’d been gorgeous, her smile lighting up the room even in the hot-pink bridesmaid’s gown. But she’d had a boyfriend and Oliver wasn’t going to poach another man’s girl, so he’d appreciated the way she had grown into a lovely young woman from the safety of the bar, where he’d been getting sloshed with a bunch of Wall Street financiers who wanted to know if everything really was bigger in Texas.
Oliver dimly recalled his growing frustration that no one had believed him when he’d said he’d give anything to be back in New York City. To those idiots, Texas had sounded like a vacation. Barbecue, babes and bulls—as if that was all anyone did in Texas. All the cowgirls in the world hadn’t made up for being stuck running the family businesses—and the family—then and it didn’t make up for it now.
Besides, cowgirls tended to go for Flash, his younger brother. Not serious Oliver.
He almost hadn’t come back to Dallas after that wedding. He’d woken up with a killer hangover and a new resolve to tell his father where he could shove the All-Around All-Stars Rodeo and his ten-gallon Stetsons and his stupid fake Texan accent. Oliver was going back to New York, where he belonged.
But he hadn’t. He couldn’t go back on his word to his mother. So he’d done the next-best thing—wrestled control of Lawrence Industries away from his father. The old man was still chairman of the board, but Oliver was CEO of the whole thing. Including the damned rodeo.
His attempts to relocate corporate headquarters to New York after the takeover had failed, though. Some days, he thought he’d never get out of this godforsaken state.
Had he and Renee spoken at the reception? Had she asked about his rodeo? Had he been drunk enough to tell the truth? Damn.
Even in that sad sack of a black dress, she was still the most stunning woman he’d ever seen. He wanted to sink his hands into her silky hair and pull her against his body and feel for himself that she was really here. Even her skin seemed to glow.
But as he looked closer, he saw other things, too. Beneath her tastefully understated makeup, he could see dark shadows under her eyes. Was she not sleeping? And even as she stood there, submitting to his inspection, her left hand beat out a steady rhythm on her leg, a tap-tap-tap of anxiety.
He was staring, he realized. He had no idea how long he had been staring at her. Seconds? Minutes? When had Bailey left?
He cleared his throat. “Well. This is unexpected. What brings you to Dallas?”
Her stiff little smile got stiffer. “Actually,” she said, taking a deep breath, “I’m looking for Chloe.” Her voice cracked on Chloe’s name and she turned around quickly, but not quickly enough. Oliver just caught the way her face crumbled.
He took a step forward before he knew what he was doing. He had the oddest urge to put his arms around her shoulders, to take some of the weight from her. But he didn’t. It wasn’t like she’d come for him. And he couldn’t imagine that she’d welcome what was essentially a stranger giving her a hug. So instead he pulled up short and said, “It’s rodeo season.”
She was silent for a moment, but she nodded. “And Chloe is the Princess of the Rodeo,” she said in a wistful way.
Renee had been the tagalong little sister and then the bridesmaid. He knew nothing of her life. But she was clearly in distress and that bothered him.
His job was to solve problems. He’d promised his mother, Trixie, on her deathbed that he would keep the family from falling apart. That’s why he was the CEO of Lawrence Energies instead of taking another job—one that didn’t involve managing his father and his siblings. That was why he was still in Texas instead of going back to New York City. That’s why he sucked it up and managed the damned rodeo.
Renee Preston-Willoughby was a problem and he had no idea how to solve her.
“She’s in Lincoln, Nebraska, right now—and after that, it’s Omaha. And after that...” He shrugged, although Renee couldn’t see it. “It’s rodeo season,” he finished lamely. “I think she’ll be back in Fort Worth in a month.”
Chloe opened and closed every show in the All-Stars circuit. She had for years. She lived out of a suitcase for months on end, all because she liked to dress up in a sequined cowgirl top and ride her horse into the arena, carrying the American flag.
Oliver didn’t know how his sister could stand it. He hated the rodeo. The swagger of the cowboys, the smell of the horses and cattle, the idiocy of people who voluntarily climbed on the back of wild horses and angry bulls—yeah, that included Flash. There was nothing he liked or even tolerated about the All-Stars.
Now more than ever—what with Chloe demanding that she should be given a chance to prove she could run the thing and his father digging in his heels and insisting that only Oliver could do it. Never mind that Oliver absolutely didn’t want to do it or that Chloe would do a better job because she actually liked the damned rodeo.
“I should’ve guessed,” Renee said, her voice a little shaky. He saw her shoulders rise and fall with a deep breath and then she turned around, her face curiously blank. “I’m sorry I barged in on you,” she said, her voice placating. He liked that even less than the fake smile. “Thank you for not calling security on me. It’s been good seeing you, Oliver.”
This day just got weirder and weirder. She had her hand on the doorknob before he realized that she was waltzing out of his office just as quickly as she had waltzed in.
He moved, reaching the door just as it swung open. He slammed it shut with his hand, causing Renee to squeak. “Wait,” he said and then winced as his voice came out in a growl.
He was too close to her. He could feel the warmth of her body radiating through her clothes, through his. He should step back, put some distance between them. She was pregnant, for God’s sake. Who knew what else was going on?
Slowly, she turned. Close enough to kiss, he dimly realized as he stared down into her soft blue eyes. She gasped, her eyes darkening as she looked up at him through thick lashes. He was powerless to move away. “Renee,” he said, and his voice came out deeper than normal. “Why are you here?”
He wasn’t sure what he expected her to do. He wasn’t all that surprised when her eyes got a wet look to them—it went with the dress. But then her mouth opened and instead of a sob, a giggle came out. “You don’t know,” she said, her eyes watering even as she laughed harder. “Oh, God—you really don’t know?”
So he was out of the loop on the New York scene. “Know what?” A tear trickled down her cheek and he lifted his other hand to wipe it away. When it was gone, he didn’t pull his hand away. He cupped her cheek and kept stroking her skin. It was almost like a hug, right? “What’s happened?”
“Oh, nothing,” she said, an edge of bitterness creeping into her voice. “It’s just...” The giggle ended in a hiccup that sounded suspiciously like a sob. “It was all a lie, wasn’t it? My entire life has been a lie.”
He caught another tear before it could get far. “I don’t understand.”
“Don’t you? I can’t believe you haven’t heard.” She closed her eyes and he could feel the tension in her body. “They’re calling it the Preston Pyramid. My family’s investment company was nothing but a pyramid scheme and it’s all come crashing down.”
* * *
How could he not know? The collapse of Preston Investment Strategies wasn’t just a New York scandal. Renee’s father—with the help of her brother and her lying, cheating husband—had bilked hundreds of thousands of investors out of millions of dollars all across the country. She’d thought everyone knew about the Preston Pyramid.
But then again, wasn’t that why she was in Dallas instead of New York? She just needed to get away. Away from the reporters camped out in front of her apartment building. Away from the gossip and the threats. She needed to go somewhere where people might not look at her like she was the Antichrist’s daughter. And Clint had told her to trust the Lawrence family. He’d said Oliver would take care of her, but Renee was done with people telling her what to do.
Chloe had been her best friend, once upon a time. Chloe never took crap from anyone. Chloe would help her.
Except Chloe wasn’t here. Oliver was. And Renee was out of options.
This was how far she’d fallen. Slipping past his executive assistant, barging into his office and doing her level best to keep it together.
Which was hard to do when he was touching her so tenderly. Not that those tender, sweet touches would last when he realized the true magnitude of what had happened. She stared at him as he processed the news. She saw her own emotions reflected in his face. Shock, disbelief—a lot of disbelief. “Your father ran a pyramid scheme? How?”
She shrugged. She should move away from him. He basically had her pinned against the door and was staring down into her face with his intense brown eyes. But he kept stroking her cheek and she couldn’t break the contact. It took everything she had not to lean into the touch, not to ask for more.
It had been Clint’s wedding, hadn’t it? The last time she’d seen Oliver Lawrence? She remembered Crissy Hagan, another one of the bridesmaids that Renee had thought was a friend until about six weeks ago. Crissy had gushed about how gorgeous Clint’s old friend was, but...Renee had blown Crissy off. Oliver wasn’t hot—he was irritating. He’d always looked down upon her. He’d been serious and grumpy, even as a kid. He’d never liked her and he’d made it difficult for anyone else to like him. Why he and Clint had got along, she’d never known.
When Renee had found herself next to him at the bar, she’d tried to strike up a conversation by asking about the rodeo. He’d promptly informed her he hated the damned thing in the meanest voice she’d ever heard.
Oliver Lawrence was not someone she could rely on. At least, he hadn’t been.
She still didn’t know if he was or not.
But Crissy had been right. Oliver had been hot then—and he was hotter now. He was one of those men who was just going to get better looking with age. How old was he? Twenty-eight? Twenty-nine? Clint had turned twenty-nine in jail, so Oliver was around there.
He was not the same boy she remembered. He had four inches on her and he seemed so much...more than she remembered from five years ago. Taller, broader. More intense.
Stupid hormones. She was not here to lust after Oliver Lawrence, of all people. She was here to hide.
“Apparently,” she said, remembering he had asked a question, “very well. No one caught on for years. Decades. He generated just enough returns that people believed the lies he sold them. Reinvestment, they called it. He convinced everyone to reinvest the profits they made, sometimes investing even more than the original amount. Of course there were no real profits,” she said, her emotions rising again. She struggled to keep them in check. “There were never any profits. Not for the investors. It all went to him.” She swallowed, forcing herself to look away from Oliver’s intensity. “To us. I didn’t know anything about it, but there’s no denying that I benefited from his schemes. I can’t believe you haven’t heard,” she repeated.
Anger and shame burned through her. She was so damned mad at her family—and she hurt for all the people who’d been swindled. Her father had ruined lives so he could buy a fourth vacation home. It was evil, what he’d done.
But worse than that—how could she have gone twenty-six years without 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?”