The CEO Forbidden Passion

"Find that damn old bastard. I don't care if he lives or dies. Scatter!" Rough, angry screams of a man with thin sideburns and an elegant appearance echoed in the empty living room of a luxury beachfront house with entire glass walls in Malibu, Los Angeles.

About a dozen men in black suits rummaged through the empty house looking for Lawrence Brickman. They had combed two floors of the man's house, but nothing.

"Sorry, Mister Jordan. It seems that man has run away somewhere!" reported the head of the bodyguard, a malevolent-looking young man with his hands on his back in the middle of the 1st floor of the beachfront house.

"Bastard! He took away my $50 million investment fund. That's no small sum, Donovan. HUH!" Jordan Fremantle grabbed his cropped hair, which had been neatly styled, out of annoyance.

Feelings of depression due to losing a lot of money at one time make it experience symptoms of depression. He wanted to kill the old man who was so cunning and had tricked him into agreeing to pay for a mega-project of the future city of North America.

Without him realizing it, the CCTV cameras installed at hidden points in the beach house recorded everything. And the old taro owner of the house laughed arrogantly, enjoying the scene recorded there from his hiding place.

***

Malibu, Los Angeles.

"Hello, gentlemen. Did I miss a party here? Why are there so many people?" A melodious and joyful voice tugged Jordan Fremantle's head behind his back.

He saw a woman with light golden brown hair wavy along her back, dressed in a matching bright yellow mid-thigh body dress. She wore six-inch-high yellow stiletto heels and wide black glasses on her little oval face, looking directly at Jordan from the doorway of the beach house.

'Who is this damn carefree woman?!' Jordan thought curiously at the figure in front of him from head to toe. 'Beautiful. Sexy. Even if it's too crowded to the point where it's almost ridiculous to look at,' Jordan valued in his heart.

"Sorry, if you guys are done doing whatever it is here. Please close the door again!" said Chantal Brickman as she walked casually past Jordan, who stood frozen without a word out of his mouth.

Suddenly, Chantal's hands were grabbed and jerked until her body was sent flying against the rigid body in the form of woven muscles hidden behind the gray Armani suit.

Chantal suddenly annoyed and took off her glasses with her left hand. "Who are you—you dare be rude to me?!" she demanded.

"HA–HA–HA! Who am I? Can you tell after you first tell me who you are, Miss?" Jordan replied sarcastically.

The beautiful woman shrugged her shoulders and pushed Jordan's chest to free herself from the man's tight embrace. She then stretched out her right hand in front of Jordan, which the other person had to shake. "Chantal Brickman. And who are you, Sir?" she said in a light tone.

"Jordan Fremantle. It seems that your arrival here can brighten up my gray day, Miss Chantal—Brickman. An unfinished business seems to have found a bright spot!" said the man with bright blue eyes like sapphires with a devilish and dangerous grin.

"Unfinished business?!" repeated Chantal parrotingly.

Jordan's thick left eyebrow arched as he stared at Chantal's confused face. "It's a long story, and I have stomach symptoms that could flare up if I had to tell you now. So—come with me!" Jordan replied, embracing Chantal's slender waist, which curved like an S.

"Hey! Don't drag me, idiot—I could twist my leg in a 10-centimeter stiletto!" protested Chantal noisily when she had to keep up with the fast and comprehensive footsteps of a tall man nearly 2 meters tall at her side.

Jordan's steps stopped. He thought for a moment as he stared at Chantal. A moment later, the girl's light body lifted from the earth's surface and sank into Jordan's arms. "This seems safer, doesn't it, Chantal?" he said and hurried out the door of Lawrence Brickman's beachfront home.

A dozen or so bodyguards followed Jordan's departure. A man among them closed the door of the beachside house that was uninhabited earlier. Then Donovan Bailey opened the limousine door for his boss, holding the man's enemy's daughter. Donovan was secretly relieved at Jordan's luck. Even though the fraudulent old man ran away, they captured his daughter.

"Where are you taking me, Jordan?! My Lexus is still in front of my father's house! I should drive it myself—" Chantal spoke non-stop, trying to find excuses so she could escape from the clutches of the mysterious man next to her.

Jordan smiled broadly, glancing at Chantal. He held out his palm. "Give me the car keys. Let my men bring it for you!"

A desperate sigh slid from Chantal. She opened the mini bag in her arms and took out her Lexus car keys. "Please!"

Before the limousine left, Jordan rolled down the car window and called Donovan Bailey to attend to Chantal's black sedan. Then he ordered the driver to start their return journey to downtown Los Angeles, where his penthouse was located.

"Where are you taking me? Can you explain the confusing events that have happened to me, Jordan? I feel so uncomfortable!" grumbled Chantal, feeling that something was not right was happening to her.

"Your father conned me out of 50 million dollars. Can you tell me where he is right now, beautiful Chantal?" Jordan answered while looking at that face closely and assessing his heart.

The girl's mouth dropped open. 'Papa, looks like you left a super duper big problem for me this time!' thought Chantal dejectedly. She had been unable to contact Lawrence Brickman for the last two weeks, so decided to visit the beachfront home in Malibu, where her father lived.

"I don't know where he is—"

"Hmm, that means you will spend a long time with me later, Chantal! Maybe your father is interested in redeeming you if I tell him that you are with me via his email," Jordan replied while stroking Chantal's soft cheeks with his big knuckles.

Silence. Then Chantal said, "What if I don't want to?"

"No choice for you, Beauty!" Jordan said as he pulled Chantal's back roughly until her slender body bumped into him.