Concierge Watson sneers at a smelly traveler and refuses him a room at the luxury Grand Lumière Hotel. When the traveler returns looking dapper, Watson realizes his mistake could cost him more than just his job.
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Rain pelted the windows of the Grand Lumière Hotel, but that didn’t stop the lobby’s chandeliers from gleaming. The opulent atmosphere could never be overshadowed by the weather.
The hotel’s concierge, Mr. Watson, stood ramrod straight behind the polished marble reception desk.
His keen eyes scanned the lobby, ensuring every detail met the exacting standards of the five-star establishment. Nothing was out of place… until…
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The doors swung open, letting in a gust of wind and a few pelts of rain into the hardwood floors. But it was the bedraggled figure that made Mr. Watson wrinkle his nose.
A man stumbled toward the desk, leaving muddy footprints in his wake.
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His clothes were soaked through and hung limply from his frame. His scraggly beard as well as the stench of wet dog and stale cigarettes told the concierge that he hadn’t washed in days.
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Mr. Watson’s nose wrinkled further. “May I help you?” he asked in a clipped and cold tone.
The man looked up. “Please,” he croaked weakly, “I need a room for the night. My car broke down a few miles back, and I’ve been walking in this downpour for hours.”
“I’m afraid that won’t be possible, sir,” Mr. Watson shook his head. “We have no vacancies at the moment.”
“But surely there must be something. I can pay whatever the rate is. I just need a place to sleep and dry off.”
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“As I said,” Mr. Watson repeated, his lip curling, “we have no rooms available for someone in your… condition. Perhaps you might try the motel down by the highway. I’m sure their standards would be more… accommodating.”
The man’s face fell and his shoulders slumped. But for a small second, anger flashed in his eyes. “I see,” he said quietly. “Thank you for your time.”
He turned and trudged back toward the doors.
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Mr. Watson watched him go, then called for a bellhop. “Call maintenance to clean this up,” he ordered, gesturing to the muddy footprints. “We can’t have the lobby looking like a pigsty.”
As the young bellhop hurried to comply, Mr. Watson smiled, satisfied about keeping that dirty man away from his hotel.
But his actions would soon come back to haunt him.
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***
An hour later, the lobby doors swung open once more. Mr. Watson looked up, ready to greet another guest with his practiced smile.
To his surprise, a well-dressed man strode confidently toward the desk. His suit was impeccably tailored, his shoes shone with a mirror-like gleam, and his salt-and-pepper hair was neatly combed.
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It took Mr. Watson a moment to recognize the face beneath the expertly trimmed beard. His eyes widened in shock as he realized it was the same man he had turned away earlier.
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The man approached the desk with a slight smile playing on his lips. “Good evening,” he said smoothly. “I’d like a room for the night, please.”
Mr. Watson swallowed hard. “Of course, sir,” he managed to say. “May I ask what happened to… your previous attire?”
“Ah, yes,” the man chuckled. “I found a truck stop down the road with showers and a small clothing shop. Amazing what a little soap and a clean suit can do, isn’t it?”
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Mr. Watson nodded stiffly, looking away, and tapped at his computer in search of an available room. “We have a standard room on the third floor,” he said.
“That will do nicely,” the man replied.
As Mr. Watson processed the reservation, he couldn’t help but add, “I must say, sir, you clean up rather well. It’s like night and day.”
“Yes, well, appearances can be deceiving, can’t they?”
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Mr. Watson handed over the key card and nodded, pursing his lips. “Indeed they can. Enjoy your stay, Mr…?”
“Bloomington,” the man supplied. “Thank you, I’m sure I will.”
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Mr. Bloomington walked away, and Mr. Watson watched. There was a tightening in his chest that he couldn’t explain… as if he had made a mistake.
But he wouldn’t apologize. His job was to maintain the cleanliness, prestige, and reputation of the hotel, so all their clients had to, at least, look the part.
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Still, throughout Mr. Bloomington’s stay, Mr. Watson went out of his way to avoid the man. When forced to interact, he was curt and dismissive.
On the third day of Mr. Bloomington’s stay, Mr. Watson was overseeing the breakfast service in the hotel’s elegant dining room.
He moved from table to table to ensure each guest was satisfied with their meal and experience. As he approached Mr. Bloomington’s table, he overheard a conversation that made his blood run cold.
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“Yes, that’s right,” Mr. Bloomington was saying into his phone. “I’ve been here for three days now, observing operations incognito. I think I’ve seen enough to make some necessary changes.”
Mr. Watson froze. Incognito? Changes? Who exactly was this Mr. Bloomington?
As if sensing his presence, Mr. Bloomington looked up and met Mr. Watson’s shocked gaze. He smiled, but there was no warmth in his eyes.
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“Ah, Mr. Watson,” he said smoothly. “Just the man I wanted to see. Would you join me for a moment?”
His heart began racing at the request. It was said with such authority that the tightening in his chest happened, and a hint of intuition hit his thoughts.
Was Mr. Bloomington more important than the concierge imagined?
Numbly, Mr. Watson sank into the chair across from Mr. Bloomington. The man leaned forward and started speaking in a low but firm voice.
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“I don’t believe we’ve been properly introduced,” he said. “My first name is Charles, but you can keep calling me Mr. Bloomington. I recently acquired this hotel chain, and I’ve been visiting each property to assess their operations firsthand.”
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The color drained from Mr. Watson’s face as the full impact of his actions over the past few days hit him. “You’re… you’re the new owner?” he stammered.
Mr. Bloomington nodded gravely. “That’s correct, and the CEO. And I must say, Mr. Watson, I’ve been less than impressed with what I’ve observed here, particularly concerning your treatment of guests you deem… unworthy.”
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Mr. Watson opened his mouth to protest, but no words came out. He sat there, fish-mouthed and pale, as Mr. Bloomington continued.
“A hotel’s primary function is to provide hospitality to all its guests, regardless of their appearance or circumstances. Your behavior has been not only unprofessional but cruel. Is this really the image we want to project to our clientele?”
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“No, sir,” Mr. Watson whispered, chastened. “It’s not.”
The new CEO stood and nodded to the side. “Follow me.”
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***
Minutes later, Mr. Watson stood in Mr. Bloomington’s new temporary office, which was formerly the hotel manager’s space.
The CEO sat behind the desk, and his fingers drummed against the polished, sleek hardwood surface.
“Mr. Watson,” he began, “I hope you understand the gravity of your actions. This hotel has always prided itself on providing exceptional service to all our guests. Your behavior over the past few days has fallen far short of that standard.”
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Mr. Watson nodded, but couldn’t speak. He was ready for the inevitable: losing his job, which he’d held for over 15 years.
“I’m glad you recognize that. Now, the question is, what are we going to do about it?”
“Sir?” Mr. Watson looked up, surprised.
“I believe in second chances, Mr. Watson. More importantly, I believe this experience can be a valuable lesson not just for you, but for our entire staff. Are you willing to learn from this and help implement changes to ensure it never happens again?”
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“Yes, sir,” Mr. Watson said, breathless as relief flooded through him. “Absolutely. I’ll do whatever it takes to make this right.”
“Good.,” the new CEO nodded. “Then here’s what we’re going to do…”
Over the next few weeks, the Grand Lumière Hotel transformed. New policies were put in place that required equal treatment for all guests, regardless of appearance.
If they could pay, they could have a room.
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Hoping to prove his worth, Mr. Watson developed a training program to help staff recognize and overcome their biases.
Furthermore, to work on himself, the concierge began volunteering at a local homeless shelter.
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Slowly but surely, the atmosphere in the hotel began to change. Guests from all walks of life were welcomed with genuine warmth and respect.
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The staff worked together more cohesively since their workplace no longer seemed to value certain people over others.
But Mr. Watson’s new outlook on his job was yet to be tested.
***
One rainy evening, much like the night that had started it all, the concierge stood at his familiar post behind the reception desk.
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The doors swung open, and a bedraggled traveler entered, seeking shelter from the storm.
For a second, Mr. Watson’s old instincts surfaced, but he schooled himself and adopted a warm smile. “Welcome to the Grand Lumière,” he said kindly. “How may we assist you this evening?”
As he helped the grateful guest check in, Mr. Watson caught Mr. Bloomington’s eye across the lobby.
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The CEO nodded approvingly.
Mr. Watson let out a small sigh and continued working. Times had changed at the Grand Lumière Hotel, and he was glad not to have wasted his second chance.
This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.
My Boyfriend Demanded That I Give Him My Card to Pay Our Restaurant Bill
When Lisa earns her much-deserved promotion, she wants to go out and celebrate with her boyfriend, Troy. At the restaurant, Lisa learns that Troy just wants to put on a façade and be the ‘man’—disrespecting her and her hard-earned role. But when he gives his number to a waitress, things take a turn, causing Lisa to embarrass Troy and walk out of their relationship.
It was meant to be a night of pure celebration. After six months at my new job, I had finally earned a significant promotion and was eager to share the joy with Troy, my boyfriend.
He suggested the new upscale restaurant in town, famous for its ambiance and gourmet menu.
“Let’s just get dressed and go out, Lisa,” he said. “We don’t do this very often, so let’s make the most of it.”
I had to agree; we rarely did this—we rarely decided to go out and indulge in anything.
“Fine,” I agreed. “A night out is exactly what we need.”
And I believed that we needed it. Mainly because, as much as I wanted to believe that Troy and I were supposed to last forever, I had begun to see some cracks in our relationship. Something just felt different.
I was happy in my job, but Troy wasn’t happy in his.
“I do so much, but nobody bothers to recognize me,” he said grimly one evening when he came over for salsa night.
Troy sat on the couch and dug his chips into the salsa and guacamole, complaining about work the entire evening.
It was because of his moods regarding work that I didn’t tell him anything good about my job.
“Maybe you just need to give it more time,” I said, handing him a frozen margarita. “You just started there a few months ago.”
“Lisa, please,” he said. “You wouldn’t understand. Let me be.”
But when I had gotten news of this new promotion, there was no way that I was going to keep it to myself. I wanted to celebrate and be celebrated, and I hoped that Troy would want to do just that.
To my surprise, he seemed really excited about it, and he told me that he was proud of me.
“Really, babe,” he said when he came over to my apartment to pick me up. “This is a big deal, and I’m proud of you.”
The evening started beautifully. Troy showed up with a bouquet of flowers, and he sat down and waited while I got ready. Usually, he wasn’t pleased if I was still getting ready when he arrived, but this evening was different.
“Come on,” I said. “I’m ready!”
Troy put his phone away and stood up, leading the way out of my apartment to where his car was waiting for us.
We drove in silence, but for once, the silence wasn’t tense—it was peaceful, and I felt that maybe Troy was changing. That he was becoming someone who wanted to be here and be present with me.
The soft lighting and the stunning view of the city skyline from our table set a romantic backdrop for our evening. We toasted to my success, with Troy raising his glass of champagne high.
“To the most amazing woman I know,” Troy cheered, clinking his glass against mine. “And to many more successes to come.”
“To us and to the future!” I echoed, suddenly caught up in the moment.
We went through the menu and ordered our meals while Troy spoke about the shared dreams that we had—from the Bali holiday that we had been speaking about for a long time, to wanting to move in together soon.
“I just think it’s time,” Troy said. “And now that you have your promotion, it will be much easier for us.”
Everything went along well, until the waitress brought our food over. Troy kept glancing at her, hoping to catch her eye—he winked at her twice.
I didn’t want to make a scene about it—Troy did this whenever he had something to drink. He behaved as though being a flirt was second nature.
But then, as we neared the end of our meal, I noticed a change in Troy. His usual easy smile tightened when the check was brought to our table. He smiled at the waitress as she stepped aside.
“You should let me pay with your card,” he said, a strain of insistence in his voice.
I was surprised. On the one hand, I didn’t mind paying for the dinner because it was my promotion and I was making a lot more money than I had before. But at the same time, I had also hoped that Troy would want to spoil me for the night.
“Why can’t you use your own card?” I asked, surprised by the frown on his face.
Troy’s irritation was barely concealed.
“Clearly because you’re the one who got promoted, and I don’t have enough money for these fancy dinners, Lisa! You know that, and yet you act like you don’t.”
I was confused by his logic.
“I’ll just pay with my card,” I said, putting my handbag on the table. “It’s not a big deal.”
My boyfriend’s face hardened as he took a sip of his whiskey—he had switched from champagne halfway through the meal.
“It’s embarrassing, Lisa,” he said. “It’s like you’re actually trying to humiliate me by not letting me be the man who pays.”
I didn’t know how to react to Troy’s words. It didn’t make sense to me. And I couldn’t understand what the waitress had to do with who was paying for our meal.
I would have retaliated and stood up for myself, but I could feel my energy being drained by Troy.
I felt cornered. And because I wanted to avoid making a scene, I reluctantly handed over my card.
Troy smirked and picked up my card, signaling for the waitress with an exaggerated flourish, presenting my card as if he were performing a grand gesture.
“I’ll be right back with the card machine,” the waitress said.
Feeling uneasy, I excused myself to the restroom. I just needed a moment to be myself. Troy did this all the time. But I thought that the evening was going well and that he was changing.
Of course, I was wrong.
Before thinking it through, I pulled my phone out and logged onto my banking app. With a few swipes and clicks, I had blocked my card.
Let’s see him pay now, I thought to myself.
On my way back, I paused near the bar, my attention caught by Troy’s laughter from across the room.
He was flirting openly with the waitress, scribbling something onto a napkin—presumably his phone number.
He handed it to her with a wink. I was stunned. I was hurt. A rush of indignation surged through me.
I returned to the table as the waitress spoke.
“I’m sorry, but there seems to be a problem,” she said. “Your card was declined.”
Troy’s confident façade crumbled as he stammered, turning away.
“What?” he asked. “Surely that can’t be right.”
Feigning concern, I suggested that Troy call the bank.
He sat back in his chair and pulled out his phone, dialing the bank and putting the call on speaker.
The representative asked for the card number, which Troy read off my card, followed by a request for the account password.
Finally, Troy hesitated. He was at a loss.
“Okay, Sir,” the person said through the phone. “If you can verify the last three transactions, it would help.”
The waitress hopped from one foot to the other.
“I can answer that,” I said. “A lavender-scented candle, some skincare products, and a new book. And Sir, the name on the card is Lisa Simmons.”
The waitress’s expression cleared with understanding, and Troy was left floundering for a response.
I then pulled out another card and paid the bill myself.
“Lucky I have two cards,” I told Troy and the waitress. “But babe, since you enjoyed the service, I think you can get the tip.”
Troy, red-faced, scrambled through his wallet, pulling out only expired coupons and a few small bills.
I stood up, waiting for Troy to say something—anything, but he sat there tight-lipped.
“Hey, I didn’t take his number,” the waitress said, a smirk playing on her lips. “I just threw the napkin away.”
“I’ll find my own way home,” I told Troy as I walked out into the night.
As I walked outside, I didn’t know if I had made a mistake. But at the end of the day, no relationship should make a person second guess themselves or make them feel like celebrating themselves is wrong.
Which is something that Troy did all the time.
I think I’m finally done with him.
What would you do?
If you enjoyed this story, here’s another one |
When Kyra discovers, by accident, that her boyfriend, Henry, has been cheating on her, she goes completely numb. Until he sends her an invoice for everything that he had ever spent on her. Fueled by her anger, Kyra fights back, exposing Henry for who he is and asking for her monetary rewards in return.
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