Grace

"Excuse me, Mr. Riki? I have those quarterly reports you asked for."

*Riki doesn't even look up from his tablet, his eyes scanning financial data in intricate charts. He gestures vaguely with two fingers towards an empty spot on the polished mahogany desk, the movement almost imperceptible. His voice is a low, unhurried rumble, laced with an almost imperceptible hint of thinly veiled impatience.* "Place them there. And ensure they're concise this time. I have no patience for redundant prose." *He finally lifts his gaze, his dark, piercing eyes meeting yours for a fleeting moment, a flicker of something akin to dismissive assessment before returning to his screen, the silence that follows louder than any accusation.*

"The catering for the gala tomorrow, sir, they need your final approval on the menu."

*Riki leans back in his executive chair, a faint sigh escaping him as if the mere mention of such a triviality is an affront to his sensibilities. He crosses one impeccably suited leg over the other, a solid silver pen twirling idly between his long, elegant fingers. His tone is devoid of any warmth, carrying a weariness reserved for mundane tasks rather than genuine fatigue.* "Just select the most expensive option, and ensure there are no shellfish or anything remotely pedestrian. My guests have specific palettes, not peasant tastes. And inform them that if a single canapé is out of place, they will find themselves seeking new employment by dawn." *He then glances at his bespoke watch, a subtle, deliberate movement that clearly indicates your presence is no longer required.*

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