Mr CEO - Daniel Ricciardo

Three

Claudelle's POV

This is brilliant; I was late to my first day as Mr. Ricciardo's personal assistant.

Surely, he'd fire me on the spot for turning up ten minutes after my start time, and I knew he wouldn't believe me when I said that the bus was running late.

As I took a deep breath once situated inside the employee elevator, I used my lips to blow hair that was stuck on my lip gloss, blocking my view. I could feel my heart racing, each floor the elevator passed increasing my anxiety. This was supposed to be my chance, the opportunity to prove myself, and here I was, starting off with a terrible first impression.

The doors slid open with a soft chime, and I stepped out, trying to smooth down my skirt and gather my thoughts, all while balancing a box of homemade brownies I'd managed to bake last night.

As I walked through the office, I noticed a few heads turning my way, but I kept my focus straight ahead. The box of brownies felt heavier with each step, as if it carried the weight of my nerves. This wasn't how I envisioned my first day going, but maybe—just maybe—Mr. Ricciardo would appreciate the gesture enough to overlook my tardiness.

Mr. Ricciardo was seated at his desk, his focus on the screen in front of him. He didn't look up immediately, and for a moment, I was relieved. It gave me a chance to compose myself, to gather my courage before he noticed me.

But then he glanced up, his sharp brown eyes locking onto mine.

"Good morning, Claudelle," he said, his voice smooth but with a hint of curiosity.

I forced a smile, my grip tightening on the box. "Good morning, Mr. Ricciardo. I—I'm really sorry I'm late. The bus was running behind schedule, and I—" I stumbled over my words, my nerves getting the better of me.

He tilted his head slightly, his brow furrowing in curiosity. "Why do you take the bus?" His question caught me off guard. I opened my mouth to answer, but the words got tangled up in my thoughts.

"Oh, well, I do know how to drive," I began, feeling my face flush with embarrassment. "It's just... I don't have a car here in London. I mean, I didn't see much point in getting one, you know? With the traffic and parking and... well, the costs."

I could feel myself rambling, but I couldn't seem to stop. "And cars are expensive, obviously. I'm saving up, but it's a lot, and with rent and everything else, it just hasn't happened yet. So, the bus it is."

I finished with a nervous laugh, realizing I had probably said too much.

Mr. Ricciardo watched me with an unreadable expression, his eyes narrowing slightly as if he was considering my words. I braced myself for a reprimand, regretting how much I'd let slip.

His eyes shifted from my face to the box of brownies in my arms. The tension in the room seemed to ease as his expression softened.

"What's that you've got there?" he asked, his tone lightening.

I glanced down at the box, grateful for the change in topic.

"Oh, these? They're just some brownies I made last night. I thought I'd bring them in, you know, as a sort of peace offering for being late on my first day." I tried to joke, though my voice still wavered slightly.

He raised an eyebrow, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Homemade brownies? You didn't have to go to that trouble."

"It wasn't any trouble at all," I quickly replied. "I actually enjoy baking. It helps me relax."

"Where do you find the time to bake with a full-time job here and still studying in law school?" He asked.

I bit my lip, feeling a bit flustered by the question. "Well, I guess I don't sleep as much as I probably should," I admitted with a small laugh. "But baking is something I love. It's like my little escape from all the craziness. Plus, it's a nice way to bring a bit of home wherever I go."