Romance: The CEO Read Online Free

that he’s a recluse he still has everything that money can buy.
    But hey, there’s an interesting element for the story, Claire. Not only does this wicked billionaire have a dark artistic side, but also the traces of a conscience. Go figure.
    As I go to probe him about the symbolism in his paintings, predominantly focusing on his portrait of the businessman, a sound like a raging squall suddenly rings out, screeching like a banshee in the rafters’ overhead.
    “I hope you’re accustomed to bad weather, Claire,” Jackson says offhandedly, whipping his head towards the roof. “This hurricane is going to be quite remarkable.”
    “Hurricane?” I waver, unable to hide the panic in my voice.
    I feel my palms getting sweaty, my heart already skipping a few beats as my throat becomes drier.
    It’s worse than I thought.
    Why did it have to be a hurricane on today of all days?
    A simple storm I could have handled…
    “Yes. They’re very rare for the area, but the coastguard radioed me earlier. It’s definitely on its way. Looks like you’ll have to stay here tonight.”
    Stay here tonight?
    With him?
    Is this dark, scary mansion.
    Oh shit.
    This is bad.
    The man who I consider to be partly responsible for turning a blind eye to the Marange torture camp where people are whipped, beaten bloody and even die?
    He has to be joking… doesn’t he?
    “I could just come back tomorrow? Michosin is only a thirty-minute drive away, right? I’m sure the hotel there—”
    “With all due respect, Claire,” he interjects. “You won’t make it to Michosin. The storm has already begun. It would be suicide to drive out in it.”
    The look of concern on his face seems almost genuine.
    So far he’s not exactly fitting the profile I’ve built up of him over the last two years.
    “This hurricane,” I stammer, “How bad are we talking? Like wind speeds of 65-70 miles per hour?” 
    “No. More like 90. People die in storms like this, Claire.”
    His statement cuts straight into my heart.
    Deep into my heart.
    I don’t need to be reminded of that people die in storms.
    I lost my older brother Troy to a hurricane when I was fifteen.
    He and two of his buddies had been fishing off the coast of California when it blustered up, shifting way of course from where the bureau of meteorology had predicted it to be and drowning all three of them.
    It was a freak event, like the hand of God.
    I spent weeks crying into my pillow, unable to comprehend that my brother was gone.
    Troy was my protector – my guardian.
    He always had my back.
    I still miss him every day, and I still pray for him every night.
    Just the thought of a hurricane brings a tear to my eye.
    Since that day I’ve always had a strong aversion to storms, seething uneasily each time I hear about one on the news.
    I remember watching the footage of Hurricane Katrina and the destruction it caused, claiming 1,833 lives…
    May they rest in peace.
    “Claire?” I suddenly hear Jackson ask, his eyes hinting concern.
    “What did you say?” I reply distantly, trying to push the thoughts of Troy and the hurricane away.
    “Are you alright? Just before when I was talking about the guest house, you didn’t seem to hear me.”
    “Oh…sorry. I got lost in my thoughts for a minute there. Um, what about the guesthouse?”
    “It’s been made up for you. You’re welcome to stay there tonight. Although, you do have to cross the outside bridge to get to it, which I wouldn’t recommend once the hurricane is in its peak.”
    “The outside bridge?”
    “Yes, did you notice the river running through the middle of the mansion?”
    “Indeed I did,” I say derisively. “It’s quite a distinct feature.”
    “Well, the canal is actually the Canyon River itself. There’s an air bridge that connects the main house from the guest one as both were built on opposite sides of the river. So you can take your pick.”
    “Oh…the guesthouse should be fine,” I tell him uneasily, but then