Apartment Receptionist Novels & Stories

“Good morning. How may I assist you?” Elara stepped forward. “I’d like to meet the owner of REN Company.” The receptionist’s smile stiffened slightly. “Do you have an appointment?” “No,” Elara replied calmly. The receptionist glanced down, typing on her computer. “I’m sorry, Miss. Without an appointment, we can’t schedule a meeting.” “I only want to speak briefly,” Elara said. “This is important.” The receptionist looked up again. “I’m very sorry, Miss. Our boss is extremely busy. I suggest you return another time and make an official appointment.”

What I found was a third floor walkup above a dry cleaner on Asylum Avenue, with a frosted glass door, a waiting area containing two chairs and a dying plant, and a receptionist who looked like she had been answering phones in this office since before I was born. She looked up when I came in. “Do you have an appointment?” “No,” I said. “But I think Mr. Finch will want to speak with me. My name is Elena Whitmore.” She studied me for a moment with the particular expression of someone who has been trained to screen visitors without appearing to screen them. Then she picked up the phone, murmured something I couldn’t hear, and set it back down. “He’ll be with you in a few minutes,” she said.

Walking through the glass doors, she was immediately greeted by a well-dressed receptionist sitting behind a sleek, modern desk. “Good morning! How can I help you?” the woman asked with a warm smile. “I’m Penelope Lorenzo. I’m starting today,” she replied, returning the smile. The receptionist’s eyes lit up with recognition. “Oh, welcome! Mrs. Jenkins has been expecting you. If you follow me, I’ll take you to her office.” Penelope nodded and followed her down a well-lit hallway. Employees walked past them, some engaged in hushed conversations, others carrying files or typing on their phones. The air buzzed with productivity. It felt refreshing. It felt right.

Still trying to figure out what was going on, my eyes caught a bold notice taped to the glass door: "Front Desk Clerk Wanted. Meals and accommodation provided, generous benefits, salary negotiable. If interested, call 135-1234-5678" My eyes lit up. Without a second thought, I dialed the number. After haggling with the boss over the phone for barely half a minute, a man rushed down the hallway toward me. He wore a crisp white shirt and black slacks, his figure clean and sharp. Standing in the crowd, I waved at him. He spotted me, pulled me out of the group, and led me to the back office.

“Mr. Grey, I’ve been working here long enough to know how things operate. We don’t make clerical errors, and we don’t allow walk-ins. If you don’t leave voluntarily, I’ll have to involve security.” His words sent a jolt of alarm through me, but I wasn’t ready to give up. “I understand your position,” I said, trying to sound calm and reasonable. “But if you could just make one call—just one—to confirm, I’d really appreciate it. I can’t leave without at least trying. Please.” The receptionist stared at me for a long moment, as though deciding whether or not I was worth his time. Finally, he picked up the phone, dialing a number with deliberate slowness.

The receptionist threw her a weird look that said, 'Are you stupid or something? “Did you lose it?” The woman asked. “Umm, no. I haven’t received one yet.” She told her. The woman frowned. “That’s weird. Can you give me your name and occupation, please?” The woman asked. “Lillian Adams, Alan King’s secretary.” She told her.

Even her eyes staring at him were white. “I need to see the chairperson,” he said to the receptionist. “Do you have an appointment?” the woman asked him. The woman spoke slowly. It was her natural voice, and she wasn’t lazy. She was a receptionist for a long time now. “Yes.” “Let me check.” The woman closed her eyes and stayed quiet for a couple of minutes. After that, she opened her eyes and looked at him. “You can go now,” she added at the end.

"I'm sorry, sir! Mr. Reath is currently in a meeting. Without an appointment, I'm afraid he's unavailable to meet guests." Liam's displeasure was evident as he frowned. Unfazed, he said, "If he's in a meeting, then please call him. Tell him Liam is here to see him." The receptionist, usually the epitome of patience, was at her wit's end with the man before her. Anyone else might have snapped, calling security to escort the nuisance out. However, her training with Jerden Group kicked in, and she managed to stay composed, offering a strained smile. "Please, sir, have a seat and wait just a moment."

The receptionist immediately came forward to stop her and asked with a smile, "Hello. May I know who you're looking for?" Adeline turned around, looked at the receptionist, and replied softly, "I'm looking for the chairman." "Sorry, but do you have an appointment? If you don't, you can't enter," The receptionist said. She was looking at Adeline with a hint of disdain in her eyes. "Appointment?" Adeline chuckled and continued, "Why do I need to make an appointment to come to my family's own company?" The receptionist sneered, "Miss, I've been working the front desk for almost two years now. I've seen the chairman's wife and daughter, and you're obviously neither. So please, don't make things

They were checked at the entrance by a security guard and when they reached the reception, a fucking reception, they met the receptionist. "Can I help you?" he asked. "I'm accompanying him. He owns an apartment here." 'Owns?! Mr. Min bought the apartment and did not rent it??' Sunny gulped. "Can I see the keys and your ID?" the receptionist asked. Hosun gave the lady his ID and the keys Yoonjin had given him. She checked the name in her register of owners and tenants. She found his name and turned to him with a smile. "Mr. Jung, one of our new student apartment owners. Welcome to Zenith complex. Hope you like it here. If you need information or help with anything, you can always come to the