Chapter 2: Showdown at the Front Desk

He puffed up like a peacock, glancing around as if daring anyone to contradict him. The parents beamed, clearly impressed.

They clucked their tongues, nodded approvingly, and patted her arm. Madison soaked up the praise like a sponge, bragging about their last fancy vacation.

Madison escorted them to the elevator, then turned back to the front desk and saw me standing there, face dark.

No more Mrs. Nice Guest. Our eyes met. Her smile faltered. I stood my ground, not about to let her off easy.

I made sure everyone in the lobby could hear me. “All your managers are at a headquarters meeting—you lied and made me wait an hour for nothing! Clearly, you never intended to solve my problem! I’m going to file a complaint with the Better Business Bureau!”

I locked eyes with her, daring her to deny it. My voice was sharp, cutting through the lobby noise. A few people glanced over, eyebrows raised. I wanted her to feel every word.

The BBB isn’t something hotels like to mess with.

She tossed her hair, her tone dripping with disdain. “Only broke people go whining to the BBB. You get what you pay for. You pay so little and expect four-star service? Give me a break!”

I felt a flush of anger but refused to give her the satisfaction of seeing it. She raised her voice: “Everyone, look! This person wants to stay at our hotel for just $119! Our lowest price is $159 a night! Can’t stay, and now she’s making a scene!”

Heads turned. I felt a dozen eyes on me. My hands balled into fists at my sides. I wasn’t going to let her shame me out of what I’d paid for.

People who didn’t know the truth started talking:

“I’m a hotel member and usually pay $155 a night.”

“Our company’s a corporate member—even during promos it never goes below $150.”

“Maybe she’s just venting because she’s unhappy in her own life!”

The whispers stung, but I kept my chin up. I wasn’t about to let them see me sweat.

She leaned against the counter, arms crossed, soaking in the attention. She looked like she’d just scored a touchdown.

“Our hotel isn’t a place for people to mess around!”

She practically shouted it, as if she was the sheriff of some upscale town. I rolled my eyes so hard I thought they might stick.

My voice was ice-cold. If I had to pay more, fine. But I wasn’t going anywhere. “$229 a night, right? Give me a room.”

She snorted and switched to fake politeness. “Of course, honored guest. Our key cards automatically take you to your floor—no need to press any buttons. It’s high-tech.”

She slid the card across the counter with a flourish, sarcasm lacing every word. I took it, jaw clenched.

I finally got my room card, but there was no breakfast coupon.

“Where’s my breakfast coupon?”

My stomach rumbled, reminding me I hadn’t eaten since the drive in. I tried to keep my tone even.

“$229 doesn’t include breakfast. If you want breakfast, it’s an extra $15 per person. But honestly, you don’t look like you need it.”

Her words hit like a sucker punch. I bit my tongue, refusing to give her the satisfaction of a reaction.

You’re here to have fun—stay positive. I repeated it to myself, over and over, like a shield.

I forced a smile, grabbed my bag, and headed for the elevator, trying to shake off the humiliation. Not backing down.

Of course. The sky outside the window was a dull gray, rain streaking the glass. The universe had a sense of humor.

A little stand by the door, a rainbow of handles sticking out. I reached for one, grateful for small mercies.

I walked over to take one, but someone blocked my hand.

I looked up—it was Madison again.

She immediately took all the umbrellas away. “Sorry, our VIP guests are going out. All the umbrellas are reserved for them.”

She stacked them behind the desk, her eyes daring me to argue. The absurdity of it all almost made me laugh.

“Can they really use three umbrellas at once? Besides, don’t VIPs have drivers picking them up in the parking lot? Why would they need umbrellas?”

My sarcasm was lost on her, or maybe she just didn’t care. She turned her back, pretending I didn’t exist.

She perked up, smile wide. It was like watching a stage actress hit her mark.

She hurried over. “Uncle Rick, Aunt Marsha, it’s raining—here are the hotel umbrellas for you.”

She handed them over with a flourish, as if she’d just saved the day. The family grinned, oblivious to the drama.

He beamed, clearly proud. The older couple nodded, umbrellas in hand, ready to brave the drizzle.

They patted Madison’s arm, murmuring their thanks. She glowed under their praise, shooting me a triumphant glance.

My patience snapped. I reached out, my hand on her sleeve. “They’re also staying in king rooms—what makes them VIPs? If they can use umbrellas, so can I.”

With that, I grabbed an umbrella from her hand, opened it, and walked out, ignoring her shouting behind me.

The air outside was fresh, the rain cool on my skin. I didn’t look back. Her voice faded behind me, drowned out by the sound of tires splashing through puddles.

My feet ached, my clothes damp. The city was alive with Memorial Day energy, but I just wanted a hot shower and a little peace.

I turned the faucet, waited, but nothing but cold came out. I tried not to panic, but after the day I’d had, it felt like the last straw.

Her voice was unmistakable, all sugar and spite.

“There’s no hot water in my room—can someone come check it?”

I tried to keep my tone neutral, but I could hear the frustration leaking through.

She recognized my voice and room number and replied rudely:

“People like you are always causing trouble! Always something wrong! The weather’s warm—what’s wrong with a cold shower?”

Her words made my skin crawl. I gripped the phone, willing myself not to scream.

The dial tone buzzed in my ear. I stared at the phone, stunned. Was this real life?

I paced my room, checked the time, tried to distract myself with TV. Nothing. The water was still ice-cold.

I didn’t bother being polite. My hair was still wet from the rain, my patience threadbare. I planted myself in front of the desk, refusing to budge.