Receptionists Drama
1461 Words
Elara walked faster than she meant to.
The jacket she had pulled on in a hurry hung loosely around her shoulders, the sleeves slightly too long, brushing against her hands as she moved.
She hadn’t bothered zipping it up properly, only throwing it on as an afterthought before stepping out into the night air.
The chill settled against her skin immediately, sharp enough to make her inhale deeply, but she welcomed it. It helped keep her alert and focused.
Streetlights lined the road in a neat, glowing pattern, casting soft pools of light across the sidewalk.
The neighborhood was quiet in that late-night way where everything felt suspended between sleep and watchfulness.
A few windows glowed faintly behind curtains.
Somewhere in the distance, a car passed, its sound fading quickly into the background.
She glanced down at her phone again, the map still open, the little blue dot creeping steadily forward.
“This place is close,” she muttered under her breath, irritation slipping into her voice. “I know it’s close.”
Damien hadn’t lied about that part, at least. The address was only a few minutes from her house, a stretch she could have walked blindfolded during the day. But at night, when buildings blurred together and street names felt less certain, everything seemed unfamiliar. She slowed slightly, scanning the row of housing units ahead, her brow furrowing as she tried to match the numbers to the map.
Her phone buzzed with a warning.
Four minutes remaining.
“Great,” she said dryly. “No pressure at all.”
She picked up her pace again, sneakers hitting the pavement in quick, purposeful steps. Her heart beat a little faster—not from the walking, but from the uneasy awareness that she was doing exactly what Damien wanted. Again. Dropping everything. Showing up on command. The thought made her jaw tighten.
Just as she rounded the corner, the building came into view.
She stopped short.
There it was.
A modern housing unit, taller than the others around it, with clean lines and a polished exterior that reflected the streetlights. The entrance was well-lit, glass doors standing imposingly at the front. It looked expensive. Quiet. Private in a way that made her feel immediately out of place.
Relief washed over her, followed closely by annoyance.
Of course this would be the place.
She checked her phone one last time to confirm, then let out a slow breath and walked toward the entrance. The glass doors slid open silently as she approached, revealing a small reception area inside. The air was warmer here, carrying the faint scent of polished floors and something floral she couldn’t quite identify.
Behind the desk sat a receptionist—a woman with neatly styled hair and an expression that was already skeptical before Elara even spoke.
Elara stepped forward and cleared her throat. “Hi. I’m here to see Damien,” she said, keeping her voice even. “I have his unit number.”
The receptionist didn’t respond immediately. Instead, her gaze traveled slowly over Elara—taking in the jacket, the casual clothes, the lack of anything flashy. Her eyes lingered just a moment too long before she finally looked down at the desk.
“At this hour?” the woman asked, her tone carefully neutral.
Elara blinked. “Yes. At this hour.”
The receptionist raised one eyebrow, typing something into her computer with deliberate slowness. “Mr. Damien doesn’t usually receive guests this late,” she said. “Especially not without prior notice.”
Elara stared at her. “He called me,” she replied. “Personally.”
The receptionist looked up again, this time more openly assessing. “Are you sure you have the right person?”
Elara’s patience thinned. “I’m standing in the right building with the right address,” she said. “So yes. I’m sure.”
The woman hesitated, fingers hovering over the keyboard. “I’m sorry, but Mr. Damien doesn’t like being disturbed at this hour. And—” her eyes flicked over Elara once more “—he certainly doesn’t like unexpected visitors.”
Elara let out a short, incredulous laugh. “I don’t understand what you mean by that,” she said. “He literally told me to come here. Look, whatever. Just give him a call and tell him Elara is here.”
The receptionist frowned. “Ma’am, Mr. Damien has made it very clear that he does not take calls at this time of night.”
“Oh?” Elara shot back. “So I’m the only one who enjoys receiving calls after eleven?”
The receptionist’s lips pressed together. “I’m afraid I can’t—”
“Call him,” Elara said firmly. “Just confirm it. That’s all I’m asking.”
There was a brief pause. The receptionist’s jaw tightened, but after a moment, she sighed and reached for the phone on her desk.
“I will make an inquiry,” she said stiffly.
As she began dialing, Elara caught the way her eyes flicked toward the security desk at the side of the lobby. Unease crept up Elara’s spine, settling somewhere between her shoulders.
A moment later, a man approached them from the side—broad-shouldered, dressed in a dark uniform. He stopped a short distance away, his posture professional but unmistakably alert.
“I’m sorry, ma’am,” he said evenly. “I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”
Elara turned sharply toward him. “Excuse me?”
She looked back at the receptionist, disbelief written all over her face. “You called security on me?”
The receptionist didn’t meet her eyes as she replied. “Ma’am, you’re causing a disturbance. This is a private residence.”
Elara scoffed. “A private residence?” she repeated. “ohh so do you think I live in public housing? What exactly is wrong with you people tonight?”
The security guard shifted slightly. “Ma’am, please—”
“You know what?” Elara said, pulling out her phone. “Forget this. I’m calling him myself.”
She shot the receptionist a pointed look. “Believe me, this is not over.”
She dialed Damien’s number, holding the phone to her ear. It rang once. Twice.
No answer.
The receptionist watched her with a smug expression that made Elara’s stomach twist.
“Oh, this is fantastic,” Elara muttered. “Just perfect.”
She tried again, her fingers tightening around the phone. As it rang, she silently pleaded, not caring how ridiculous it felt.
Please pick up. Please pick up. Do not let me be humiliated like this.
The call connected.
“Yes?” Daniel’s voice came through, calm and detached.
Elara exhaled sharply and immediately put the phone on speaker. “Damien, I need you to come downstairs right now,” she said, her words tumbling out. “I’m at the reception and they’re about to throw me out like I’m some kind of animal.”
There was a pause.
“I don’t understand what you’re talking about,” Damien said. “I already informed the receptionist that I was expecting a guest.”
“Oh, really?” Elara shot back. “Because she just told me I’m constituting a nuisance.”
Another pause. Longer this time.
“Do not move,” Damien said finally. “I’ll handle it.”
The call ended.
Almost immediately, the phone on the receptionist’s desk rang.
She picked it up, and as she listened, the color drained from her face. Her posture stiffened, her eyes widening slightly. She nodded rapidly, murmuring apologies into the receiver before hanging up.
She stood abruptly. “I— I’m very sorry, ma’am,” she said, her voice shaking. “I didn’t realize you were… expected.”
The security guard glanced at her, confused, and she waved him off hastily. He stepped back, clearly reassessing the situation.
Elara crossed her arms. “Funny how that works,” she said coolly. “Maybe next time, don’t treat people like trash just because you don’t like how they look.”
The receptionist swallowed hard. “Of course. My apologies.”
She slid a keycard across the desk. “Second floor. Elevator’s just down that hall.”
Elara picked up the card and glanced at it briefly before looking back up. “Upstairs or downstairs?”
“Up,” the receptionist said quickly. “Second floor.”
“Right,” Elara replied. “Whatever.”
She turned and walked toward the elevator without another word, her steps steady, her head held high.
Behind her, the receptionist exhaled shakily.
And Elara? She smiled faintly to herself.
Because no matter how this night ended, she would not forget this moment.
Not ever.
- Writer
