90 Novel(s) Related To The Guest Book

My eyes widened. “That who I think it is?” Alex nodded, and I gingerly put the book back where it was, patting it gently. Then he showed me his guest room. “Since when do you have guests?” I said. “Not really ever,” he admitted. “But still. Imagine.”

Zainab came back to the backyard too, dancing as she did before. I see you guys found each other. See who I found, Zaynab screamed excitedly as she pointed at Shubunmi and Kunbi. They walked in slowly, carefully staring at everybody they walked past as if they were analyzing them. "Hello, Bisi," Shunbun said in her soft voice. "Hello, Shubunmi, glad you decided to come," I replied. Kunbi kept scanning the place as if he was expecting to find something that would make him decide they had to leave. He had the look of someone disgusted by everything going on at the party.

"Go ahead." "Her name is Nevena Bachvarov, a Bulgarian national on a tourist visa. She’s currently staying at 4A New Oak Guest House, Drench Lane, New Mexico." A glimmer of satisfaction crossed Breanna’s face as Sophia briefed the update, exuding an aura of professionalism. "Great work girl. Let’s move." After some few minutes~>>>>>{At Nevena's guest house} Breanna killed the engine and they approached the entrance. Sophia took the initiative and rang the doorbell continuously—but there was no response.

I give her a signal to follow me into the kitchen. “Everything okay?” - she asks “You need to stop drooling all over our guests” - I say and she smiles “But he is hot. Do you know who he is?” - she asks “Yes I know exactly who he is, Gabriel Lockwood, now stop fangirling over him and do your job” - I say and she nods her head walking out of the kitchen. I see Gabriel reading something on his phone as he eats. How can someone be so perfect? I look away and focus on my job. Once everyone from the bookings arrived I started walking around and checking in on the guests.

Now he only had to find out if she had checked in on her own or with someone. "Are you looking for a room?" a woman behind the counter asked. "I am. I only need it for a night or two," Hayden said as he pulled his credit card from his wallet. "Oh yeah? Are you here for business or pleasure?" the woman asked as she slid the guest register to him. "Business," Hayden replied as he filled in his information. "Isn't it a little odd to still use an old-school book registry?" "I don't like computers," the woman shrugged. "Heck, I can barely use our credit machine."

Coco requested urgently. “What? We have so many guests coming and going every day. How can I remember everyone?” The woman’s eyes darted around nervously. Coco grew more anxious. “It was just a short while ago. You should have a registration record. Please check the guest records from the past half hour…” “Alright, give me a moment, I’ll check for you…” However, the woman's movements were slow, clearly stalling for time. “Hurry up!” Coco urged. “Stop rushing me, or I won’t...”

She gives him a big fat tip. "Thank you. We have reserved the room for Mr. Morrie for almost a year." Gary is crawling towards her. "How long have they employed you at this job? What else do you know? I will be fair to you. I’ve got more than that in my purse." Christa takes out all the cash in her purse. "I keep the records and I think I can show you -details of the guest’s previous visits to the room, for instance, length of stay, the pictures of the guests, and likes or dislikes." Gary smiles and bows obsequiously to Christa.

I waved my hand, “I am here to meet somebody.” “Oh, certo, signore.” Oh, sure, sir. “Where's the private dining rooms for the guests staying in the hotel?” The older man’s brows furrowed and he cautiously asked, “We only have one couple who booked for the private breakfast that we offer but they didn't mention a guest.” I arched a brow at him and he spluttered as he wiped his brow. “Of course, I must be mistaken. Let me show you the way.”

I still have five minutes before the party starts. I am now at the elevator going up to the 20th floor of the hotel. When I got off the lift, the hallway was quiet. There was a sign that lead to the banquet hall. There was a queue before entering the hall. And for added security measure, the guests should scan the code sent via e-mail by The Golden Phoenix Club. The tightness of security was no joke. As I entered the hall, a tall and slender lady greeted me. “Hi, I am Trisha. Are you a writer?”

When we arrived at the restaurant, Cornell went first, placing a hand on my lower back to guide me. “Excuse me, we're here for a meeting.” He spoke to the manager by the door, holding a tablet to scan guests in. “We have a reservation under the name ‘Grey’.” We waited a few seconds for her to confirm and then she waved us inside, instructing a hostess to show us to our table. Unfortunately, our guests were already waiting for us, bored looks on their faces. “Oh, hello! Sorry, we're late…nasty traffic on I-25.” Cornell burst out with a wide smile that instantly caught the attention of the younger lady. “My name's Cornell Grey, we spoke on the phone…”

She felt sorry for her sister, who had greatly tried to overcome her embarrassment by asking the event organizers about the mysterious guy. She examined the guest book, which had no clues inside, as the names were written however the guests pleased. Some filled in only initials, some included full names with titles, and others wrote the character of their costumes. "I'll check this one; maybe he's the type who writes his costume character along with his complete phone number, right? Because here, it's a mess! Even though each column is categorized, the participants filled it in various ways. It's annoying!" Grace grumbled, regretting the participants' lack of discipline, even in trivial matters like filling out the guest list.

Ava stood at the grand entrance of the hotel, taking a deep breath as she straightened her blazer. The guests had started arriving, and she wanted everything to go perfectly. She knew that good reviews from VIPs would boost the hotel’s profile and, ultimately, its success. Beside her, Gabe stood with a warm smile, ready to assist with the check-ins, while a line of staff prepared to handle the luggage. Out of the twenty expected guests, nineteen had already arrived and been taken to their suites. Ava tried not to seem anxious, but she couldn't help glancing towards the door every now and then, hoping the final guest would arrive soon.

The ugly grey cabinet sits flush against a bright yellow wall; I get that in a place like this you want to keep things bright and happy, but this yellow is almost too bright, like it's mocking me with its happiness. "Excellent. If you just sign in here" she slides a visitors booklet towards me with a pen attached to it by a string. I pick up the pen and scribble down my information as she hands me a visitors pin I have to wear for the remainder of my visit. I take a quick scan of the other visitors names, not very many people have come to see their relatives this last week. Although I'm not one to judge, my last visit here would have been months ago.

He kept watching our backs like some monster would appear and take us back to the castle long after we had left the fountain and the little crowd that had come to touch my hair. We took a bend and stopped in front of a two-storey building. There was a board hung on the door that read ‘Guest House’. I have never seen this in any of my books so I was confused. I wanted to ask him but as usual, he didn’t let me. He pulled me into the door and the interior was enough to shut me up.

Poised and unhurried, she moved toward the microphone, ready to greet her illustrious guests. “Good evening, everyone. Thank you so much for being here tonight. Above all, I want to extend my deepest gratitude to Bluestar Books & Co. for their unwavering support, and to all of you, for the countless ways you’ve stood by the stories I’ve written.

Almost. "Yeah, but then shit happened," I laugh, trying to pretend it doesn't still sting. The two guards nod and laugh too, but they’re looking at me in complete fascination, as if I'm a zoo animal, "Anyway, I just wanted to ask if it's okay if my guest has a car with her. She has to park it inside of the property." "Oh, of course," the younger guy says and goes to grab a clipboard, "What's the name of your guest? I'll add them to the list."

I was alone so I couldn’t ask anyone. I was called to the HR office again to clear up some papers then I headed to the washroom and freshened up before heading back to the desk. The phone rang and it was one of the guests who was inquiring about a nearby bookstore. I felt someone loom over me as I talked to the guest.

She sends it to Cristina from the airport, forty minutes before boarding. Cristina calls while they are in the departure lounge. "Page nine," Cristina says. "The paragraph about the guest books." "Yes." "You are arguing that the guest books should be the primary marketing asset. Not the rooms, not the landscape, not the food. The guest books." "The guest books are the record of what the hotel actually does," Valentina says. "Everything else — the rooms, the landscape, the food — produces the experience. The guest books prove it, in the handwriting of real people across ninety years. You can't manufacture that. You can only make it visible."

’ I throw her attitude … Just because I can. ‘Yes. A couple of them are bringing guests.’ She has that catty air to her tone although she tries to veil it—unsuccessfully. Feeling between us is mutual. ‘Put the list on my desk when you’re done so I can vet the guests. We check everyone who comes here, every time we book a night. Double check and dot every ‘i’, no mistakes.’ I learned the hard way that all guests should be accounted for. ‘Yes, I know.’ She answers with a snotty tone and gets a frosty look from me. I have been putting her in her place all week and she is trying not to go down without a fight and failing.

“Is there a problem?” “To be honest, I find it interesting how easy it was to walk in off the streets, give you a name, and you provide me with such hospitality.” I flipped the key card between my fingers. “Is that something normal? Do you not ask to see identification? What if I wasn’t who I claimed to be, but a serial killer?” I cocked a brow at the doe-eyed woman with her thin-framed glasses perched atop her aristocratic nose. “Quite the opposite. All guests must provide identification during the booking process and when they check in at the desk. We offer security to both our guests and staff,” Lynette explained, her face taking on a more serious expression.