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
