Romance: The CEO Read Online Free PDF Page A

this.
    “Well, the stories that have been coming out of Leading Edge Press lately haven’t exactly be stellar reads.”
    “Sorry? I still don’t follow...”
    “There seems to be a shift away from serious new stories in your paper, Claire. If I had to take an estimated guess, I’d say that this time next year the kind of stories you choose to write about won’t even be featured in it anymore.”
    His statement comes as a hard blow.
    I knew Hank has been directing the paper away from more important news stories recently, but inferring that they’ll be gone completely is a bit harsh.
    “It’s true that my editor wants the paper to focus more on ‘pop culture’ and ‘sensationalism,’ which honestly I can’t stand to read about let alone write about. But I don’t think he’d be so brash as to get rid of serious news completely.”
    Jackson tips his head to one side like he disagrees, the hint of a smug smirk on his lips.
    “Getting back to what you said earlier though,” I continue. “So you disagree with those comments then? About being a billionaire playboy?”
    His face carves into a wide smile, revealing white, even teeth. “Are we on the record now, Claire?” he asks with fastened insolence.
    “If you want to be,” I say, batting my doe eyes at him and running my tongue provocatively across my lips.
    But as far as I’m concerned, we’ve always been on the record.
    Our eyes lock together in a contest of wills, neither one wanting to submit to the other.
    I stand my ground and keep my eyes locked on him.
    Even though I know he’s probably just toying with me, but I’m determined to beat him, overpower him, and get the facts no other journalist has succeeded in obtaining.
    And if that means a scandalous tumble in the sheets…so be it.
    The story would be worth it.
    “Why did you close your mines?” I inquire gently, crossing over my leg towards him.
    He seems like the kind of guy who knows the fine art of body language.
    Fall for the bait, Jackson . Go on.
    He takes another mouthful of wine and breaks his gaze, a small victory for me as a tick of nervousness appears on his face.
    “Come with me,” he then orders, disregarding my question as he gets back up and walks down the corridor.
    A large slice of me doesn’t want to obey him.
    I have a loose idea of what awaits me at the other end, as an image of a bed and Jackson stark naked loops in my mind.
    “It’s just for the story,” I tell myself when I rise, tracing his footsteps up the dark passage.
    Jackson leads me to the end of the house, stopping at a glass panorama of windows that display the violent ocean and jutted rocks below.
    Okay, Claire, it’s not where you had thought he was taking you. That’s interesting...
    “It’s bittersweet,” Jackson says after a few moments of silence, staring out into the violent half-lit night. “How something so raw and beautiful could also be so dark and sinister.”
    Much like some of your paintings, I want to say but once again lose all courage to spit it out.
    As I match his gaze out the window I feel like I’m suspended in air, perched in a glass box in the middle of a wild hurricane.
    Happy flipping Friday indeed, I think to myself, shuddering at the thought of the box suddenly smashing and sending the both of us down to a grisly death.
    “It’s rather like you, actually,” Jackson resumes, head turned in my direction. “So beautiful, yet so full of…unhappiness.”
    I hardly believe the words when they fall out of his mouth.
    Unhappiness?
    I am not full of unhappiness!
    How dare he say that! I’m happy…at least 90 percent of the time.
    I love my lifestyle in New York: my apartment, my friends and more specifically my job, except for the Hank side of it.
    “I beg your pardon?” I throw at him, anger surging in me.
    If I were any drunker I’d consider slapping him in the face.
    Although thinking that back over, if I’m really being honest with myself, I most likely wouldn’t do