Mr CEO - Daniel Ricciardo

Two

Daniel's POV

As I entered my apartment from an early game of tennis with my friend, Blake, I threw my keys into the bowl and tossed the racket by the door.

The satisfying thunk of the racket hitting the floor was quickly drowned out by the incessant pinging of my phone, which I'd left on the kitchen counter earlier that morning. The notifications flashed across the screen, all related to today's events.

I skimmed through the messages, most of them from my fellow Partners, all excited to finalize the promotions within our company.

Today was a big day, one that had been in the works for months. But as much as I enjoyed the thrill of making pivotal decisions, I had something else on my mind.

Claudelle.

Her face had crossed my thoughts more than once since we announced the new promotions. The way she'd been working, tirelessly and with such focus, hadn't gone unnoticed. I could see her potential, her drive.

There was a spark in her, something that went beyond her title, beyond the mundane tasks of scheduling meetings and managing the chaos of the office.

However, the other Partners didn't view her with such respect. She was just our Office Administrator to them. A competent one, sure, but nothing more.

They saw her role as functional, a cog in the machine, someone who kept the wheels turning while the rest of us focused on more "important" things.

But I saw something different. There was a quiet strength in Claudelle, a sharp mind that picked up on details others missed. And that, I thought, was something worth nurturing.

I mulled over these thoughts as I stepped into the bathroom, the remnants of the tennis match still clinging to my skin. The game had been a good distraction, a way to clear my head before the day's chaos began, but now my focus was shifting back to the office.

After I finished in the shower, I toweled off quickly and dressed, the routine motions giving me time to organize my thoughts. Once I was dressed, I picked up my phone from the counter and scrolled through the notifications. Emails, texts, calendar reminders—it was all there, a digital reminder of the busy day ahead. Ignoring most of them, I pulled up Gerard's number and dialed.

"Good morning, Gerard," I said as he answered. "Can you bring the car around? I'll be down in about ten minutes."

"Of course, Mr. Ricciardo," Gerard replied, his voice as steady and dependable as always. "I'll be ready and waiting."

"Thanks, Gerard," I said before ending the call.

Arriving at the office, I stepped out of the car and into the crisp morning air. The sleek black Mercedes that Gerard expertly maneuvered into place gleamed under the morning sun. The towering glass building of Ricciardo and Co. stood before me, its facade reflecting the sky like a mirror.

It was a familiar sight, but today, there was a different energy buzzing around it.

As I walked through the revolving doors into the lobby, I felt the eyes on me. The usual hum of conversation dipped into hushed whispers, then swelled back up as I passed.

The lobby was more crowded than usual, employees lingering around in small clusters, stealing glances at the elevators, their phones, and, most frequently, at me; It was almost amusing how predictable it was.

I nodded politely to a few familiar faces, acknowledging their presence without breaking stride. The quicker I made it upstairs, the quicker we could get through this. The whispers grew quieter behind me as I made my way to the private elevator reserved for the Partners.