Apartment Receptionist Novels & Stories

- I won't allow the young woman on the other side of the bench to continue. - Apartment 112. I need keys urgently. The code is 1206. The receptionist stares at me for a brief second. His eyes are wide, probably because he hasn't dealt with an impatient person yet. - Of course, of course - she fumbles, trying to open a drawer. I look at her blond hair tied in a bun, her mid-length uniform and her tolerable makeup for this time of day. Her name is Karen, after her badge. Could you exit the building through the air ducts, Karen? I bet not, because Karen is not a tomboy.

The receptionist said as she nodded at Royal and smiled at him. "Wren" Royal said and flashed her a smirk when she handed him the keys. Her cheeks heated up immediately, like, get a grip girl it was just a smirk but I wouldn't hold it against her. I mean, he was Royal Markinson. "This is Pamela Riles," Royal said. "She's the owner of this apartment" "Oh, Miss Riles, it's a pleasure to meet you" Wren smiled and held out her hand and I shook it. "Likewise" I said and returned the smile.

I smiled at him before getting off and walking towards the ground floor of the building. My heels clicked as I walked up to the receptionist. "Hi good morning, do you have an appointment with anyone?" The receptionist asked, giving me a huge bright smile. "My name is Anne Marion . The higher ups informed me I'll start working today." I said and she quickly flipped through a book. "That's right, head over to the tenth floor, the president will see you." She replied and I nodded greatfully at her before heading up to the tenth floor. When I got there, another receptionist attended to me and she had me wait in the waiting room for him.

Then, I sent the locksmith my location. I wasn't leaving them a single thing in that apartment. - "What are you doing? Who let you in?" Half an hour later, six burly movers opened the door. Felix was sprawled out on the couch, scrolling through videos. Seeing so many people come in, he suddenly jumped up.

He didn’t even hesitate. “I’ll wait here until you’re done,” he said calmly, already stepping back. I didn’t argue. I just nodded and walked inside alone. At the reception desk, I cleared my throat. “I’m here on behalf of Noah Wellington. I was told I have an appointment, but I don’t really have details.” The receptionist’s smile froze for half a second before snapping back into place. Too polite. Too careful. She typed something into her computer, then glanced up at me. Once. Twice. Like she was confirming something she already knew.

“I’m sure he will, Jasmine.” As we walked through the revolving doors, the cool air of the lobby greeted us. Everything looked just as I remembered—modern, sophisticated, and a little too perfect. I couldn’t help but feel a pang of nostalgia mixed with unease as I approached the reception desk. Thank God there was a new receptionist who probably didn’t know me. “Hello, I’m Aria Everhart. We have an appointment with Mr. Thorn,” I said, trying to keep my nerves in check.

well, pleasure. The familiar dingy reception area greeted me as I walked in, exchanging pleasantries with the elderly caretaker before heading upstairs. Our apartment was on the first floor, making the elevator unnecessary, but as I climbed the stairs, my phone buzzed incessantly. I fished it out of my handbag and saw Jolly’s name flashing on the screen.

D and scanned fingerprint so it's easier. I walked over to the desk and a girl gave me a weak smile and slightly bowed her head. "Hi, I am Ava, the new receptionist here." I offered my hand and she accepted it. " How about you?" She looked up at me. "I am Nissa. I work here for about 2 years from now. " She stated normally. After a normal greeting. She told me that our CEO's Personal Assistant is on leave so that the secretary is the one who will substitute her for a while, the one who will inform us if any visitors is expecting or any other information.

The receptionist looked at the woman in front of her. Her face was clean, and her expression was indifferent. She was not like those women who flattered the president, nor was she like the daughter of a business company. From her expression, it seemed that she was here to make trouble. The receptionist was well-trained in the etiquette of welcoming guests. She smiled and said, "Excuse me, but you need to make an appointment to see our president. May I know who you are? May I help you register?"

"Oh, I see. Can you give me your ID card and the key card for the apartment?" "Sure." I reach for my wallet, then pass the requested documents to Claire. "Oh, Mr Reagan..." "That's me." "Wh-why do you want to free the apartment? Are you leaving so soon? Man, she's going to be pissed off..." "Oh, no. I just don't need it." "But how come?" "Just mark it as free!" I snap at her. I just came with Abigail and she told me to go wait for her in her apartment, is the receptionist deaf or something?