Apartment Receptionist Novels & Stories

“Please excuse me; I have an appointment with Mr. Denver for the new editor position.” “We have to get going, Madam. A visitor is set to arrive at the company. Sorry to be rude, but I'm unable to call him. You can, however, use the elevator to get to the first floor. He will attend. Fix your stuff, Miss," the receptionist said in a single breath, flinging her hand to arrange the items close at hand after appearing to lose track of how to set up the desk. Julia pondered the individual who was responsible for the commotion in the workplace. Zach or his father? Perhaps his grandfather!!

Trying my very best not to break down and bawl my eyes out. I shut the door behind me rather quietly and made my way towards the house landline, making a call straight to the receptionist. “Hello, I’m from apartment 204 and there’s an unwanted guest in front of my apartment, please get him out.” I raked my hair backwards tiredly as I listened to the lady who assured me security will be here.

He approached the reception desk. "Good afternoon, sir," Nooren greeted. "I'm Noreen Winchester, and I was told that-" "Ah, Ms. Winchester," greeted a middle-aged man. "I am waiting for you. I was told you'd be arriving today. I'm Larry Kellan, the apartment manager. Let me show you to your unit." Larry was a friendly and talkative man. He explained a few things about Noreen's unit as he walked up to the eighth floor.

“Cute. Anyway—what are you even doing here? This isn’t the strip mall. They don’t sell cheap shoes or clearance cosmetics.” “I’m well aware where I am.” “Hm.” She leaned forward just a little, like she was peering down at an insect. “Then let’s hear it. What property are you here for? A rental apartment with a shared bathroom? A broom closet with a view?” Her laughter was bright and thin. I didn’t react. I walked to the front desk instead. The receptionist straightened immediately, posture like a soldier. “Welcome. Do you have an appointment?”

A lot has changed in her since that night, including her idealism. The elevator doors opened to reveal polished concrete floors and industrial chandeliers, as well as a desk in the center of the vast space housing five receptionists. Behind them, a majestic cityscape is framed like a painting—but Amy fights her artist's natural tendency to study it in detail, allowing herself to focus on the task at hand. "Hello," she whispered, her voice trembling. "Is Mr. Montero there?" The receptionist closest to Amy frowned, scanning her computer screen. "Good afternoon. Do you have a reservation?"

"And return to your post in the lobby afterward." The receptionist nodded dutifully, her heart pounding in her chest. She swiftly exited the office, joining Alice and the three police officers who awaited her report beyond the threshold. With a brief exchange of gratitude, Alice thanked the receptionist for her assistance. As the receptionist turned to make her way toward the elevator, anticipation filled the air. Officer Johnson stepped forward, grasping the door handle, ready to reveal the secrets concealed within the CEO's domain.

I told myself and took the elevator down. When I reached the reception, I was greeted by a charming old receptionist. “Are you having a good first day in your new apartment Miss Kowalsky?” he said with a warm smile. “Is there anything I can help you with? You can call me anytime, you know that right?” “Thank you, Mr. Dayton. You’ve just given me everything I wanted. Your smile is the best remedy for my dilemmas…”. That was the truth, I forgot all my uncertainties in an instant.

she repeated. “Yes, please tell your manager we come here as Mister Adalfo Garcia’s wish,” Siena informed. Though she never heard of the name, finally the receptionist complied and picked up her phone to make a call to her manager. Siena wondered since this was the first time the receptionist of the asset they visited did not know Adalfo Garcia’s name and their names. Did it mean Alberto Apartment did not belong to Adalfo? Were they making a mistake? “You can meet our manager, Mrs. Dayton, in her office. Go straight along this corridor until you reach the second room at your right side,” the receptionist finally gave a direction.

She had to do this. The elevator ride to the top floor seemed to take an eternity, and when the doors finally slid open, Ava found herself in a sleek, modern lobby. A stern-faced receptionist looked up at her from behind a desk made of polished onyx. "Can I help you?" the woman asked, her tone skeptical. "I'm here for the personal assistant position," Ava said, trying to keep the tremor out of her voice. "Ava Sterling." The receptionist narrowed her eyes but nodded towards a heavy wooden door. "Through there. Good luck."

Was I overthinking this? Still, something felt off, and I couldn't say why. I lived in apartment 601. Across the hall in apartment 603 was the guy who'd just texted in the group chat. He lived alone. The two of us were the only ones living on this floor. He had a short fuse and often complained that people in the building were too noisy, which made him rather annoying. Through the peephole, I saw the guy in 603 open his door. The officer was at the threshold, speaking to him. After a moment, the guy in 603 stepped back and let the officer inside.