At exactly 8:00, I knocked on Axel Valentin's office door. The brushed steel nameplate read his name, and below, in smaller letters, his title: Founder & CEO – Aurelian Group.
"Come in."
The moment I stepped inside, the impact was immediate. The office occupied the corner of the top floor, with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the heart of Rome. The décor was minimal, almost severe. No photographs, no personal touches to distract. Everything spoke of control.
Axel was already seated at his desk. Dark shirt, sleeves rolled up with perfect symmetry on both wrists. He was reading a document with absolute focus, as if the rest of the world didn't exist. Only after a few seconds did he look up.
"You're on time."
"I was asked to be punctual."
"I didn't ask. I took it for granted."
The tone wasn't harsh. It was definitive. He stood without another word and gestured for me to follow. We walked down the executive corridor and stopped at a desk positioned just outside his office, central to the walkway.
"This will be your station. No one passes without going through you. Anyone who wants to speak with me, anyone seeking priority, anyone who thinks they deserve an exception… they come to you first."
I immediately understood the meaning. This wasn't simple administrative support. I was the filter between him and the rest of the company.
"Every email that leaves my office goes through you," he continued. "Every schedule is checked by you. If something slips, it's your responsibility."
I nodded. Not because it was comforting, but because it was clear.
He handed me a folder with his weekly agenda. "It's overloaded. I want a solution within thirty minutes."
I flipped through the pages. Meetings with international investors, legal appointments, public events. Some times overlapped intentionally, as if it were an implicit test.
"He can't keep all this," I observed after a few minutes.
"I didn't ask if I could," he replied, unperturbed.
I looked up. "You want me to decide what to sacrifice?"
He held my gaze for a moment, and in that instant, I realized the right answer wasn't technical—it was about decision-making.
"Yes."
It was clearly a test. Not about the schedule itself, but my ability to prioritize.
I removed a minor media event, shortened a call with a smaller partner, and extended the meeting with the finance team—the only one that would directly impact the quarter's decisions. When I presented the reorganized agenda, Axel Valenti studied it silently, without hurry.
His finger paused on one of the changes.
"Why this?"
"Reducing time with the finance team would be a mistake. If something has to be cut, it won't be there."
He stayed still for a moment, eyes still on the papers, as if evaluating not just the choice but the reasoning that led me to it.
"Acceptable," he said finally.
It wasn't a compliment. It was a recording of the result.
Shortly after, he headed to the conference room to meet an international investor. He motioned for me to follow. The moment he entered, conversations stopped without him raising his voice. He didn't dominate the space with theatrical gestures; it was the precision of his speech that commanded attention. He corrected figures without consulting documents, cited contract clauses from memory, anticipated objections before they were even raised.
Halfway through the meeting, he turned to me as if naturally.
"Crystal, what's the projected margin in the second scenario?"
I hadn't been briefed. I hadn't even been told I would be called on.
I felt all eyes on me, but my response came smoothly. I cited the numbers I had read that morning, explaining the projection in a few clear words. A brief silence followed, then he nodded subtly, and the meeting continued as if nothing had happened.
When we returned to his office, he closed the door with controlled calm.
"I didn't warn you about that question."
"I know."
"And yet you didn't hesitate."
"I couldn't afford to."
His gaze grew more intense, but not harsher. It seemed genuinely curious, as if something hadn't met his expectations.
"People here need time to adapt to me," he said.
"It's not the people," I replied before overthinking. "It's how you test them."
For a nearly imperceptible instant, something shifted in his expression. Not annoyance, not irritation. A different kind of attention—more alert, more precise.
"You may return to your desk."
I left and sat at the desk outside his office, finally understanding the significance of the position. Anyone wanting access to him would have to pass through me first.
Behind the closed door, the phone began to vibrate. He didn't answer immediately. He let it ring twice before picking it up.
"Tell me."
A pause.
"No."
A longer pause.
"Not as expected."
The call ended.