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,
