Romance: The CEO by Emily Cooper Read Free Book Online Page A

cliff’s edge I can’t help but feel drawn to him.
    I know he’s on the brink of snapping, the horror of Zimbabwe stagnantly burning in his mind.
    But where does that leave the interview and the story?
    When I walk out to meet him the wind swipes fiercely at my face, the curls of my long sandy hair flying across my eyes.
    Jackson looks up at me briefly before turning his stare back to the sea, his faraway harlequin face thawing me all over again.
    “You’re not thinking of jumping, are you?” I ask light heartedly, sweeping my hair to one side.
    “No,” he larks. “Although I’d be a liar if said I hadn’t considered it once or twice in the past.”
    Jackson shifts his feet uncomfortably, his milky brown eyes blazing into mine.
    “Back in the kitchen…that was the first time I’ve ever told anyone about what happened in the mine,” he says. “I…strangely feel ok about it. Like it’s less of a burden somehow.”
    I nod understandingly and rub his arm. “I’m glad. And that’s why you need to join the land of living again, Jackson. You need to tell the world your story and be respected for doing so. And take your paintings with you. Put them in a gallery and show them to people. Through them they will see your pain and what all those deaths have done to you.”
    He looks back away and out to the sea, surveying it like he’s searching for an absolution within the currents.
    “They’ve been my only solace here,” he murmurs. “Those paintings reflect the true rawness of me. I’ve never let anyone see them, except you. But even that was unintentional. I don’t think I can expose myself like that, Claire. Not to the whole world.”
    “But that’s what you don’t get, by exposing yourself you’re revealing that you’re only human like the rest of us. You’re not the bad guy. You hurt and bleed and feel just like anyone else. This is your chance to clear your name and stop people speculating about your past. Your paintings and the emotions you’ve poured into them will be great for the story.”
    “The story?” he asks sharply, his eyes constricting on me fiercely. “Of course…how foolish of me to forget about your damn story. That’s all you really care about, isn’t it? And here I was thinking maybe we...” his voice breaks off, shaking his head at the blank expression on my face.
    But I wasn’t even thinking about the story really when I said all that.
    I may not have known Jackson for long, but I’m beginning to really care for him, and more than I probably should.
    A large part of me hurts to see him so despondent.
    “Jackson, I don’t just care about the story. I said all that as a friend, albeit it’s a very new and quick friendship. But, now that you’ve brought it up, we do need to talk about what I’m going to put in the feature article.”
    “Unbelievable!” he scoffs. “You’re a reporter through and through.”
    “Yes I am!” I hurl at him, fed up with not only his inane comments but also the fact that he’s simply refusing to hear what I’m saying.  “You knew who I was before I came here. You requested me to do an interview about what happened in Zimbabwe twelve months ago. Has that suddenly just slipped your mind?”
    “No, it hasn’t slipped my mind!”
    “Then why are you so shocked that I want to use what you’ve said in the story then? A story that will not only paint you in a good light but be poignant and real to people.”
    “Because that’s not why I asked you here.”
    I look at him in absolute bewilderment.
    What is he talking about?
    Why else would I be here?
     

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    “What do you mean that’s not why you asked me here? If I’m not here for an exposé, then what am I here for?”
    Jackson gives a long, drawn out sigh, running a hand through his hair apprehensively.
    “Your editor, Hank, is an old family friend. I contacted him a few days ago and told him I was lonely. He suggested I consider doing the