The Rejection
E
Vincent stood outside the sleek glass doors of Maison Lumière…one of Madame Duchamp’s flagship restaurants…checking his watch for the fifth time in ten minutes.
He’d been waiting for two hours. Two. Fucking. Hours.
The receptionist had told him Manager Idris was “in meetings” and would be available “shortly.” That had been at eleven in the morning. It was now past one, and Vincent was still standing in the lobby like some desperate salesman trying to pitch a product nobody wanted.
His feet ached. His back hurt from standing. And the humiliation of watching other people…actual important people…walk past him with barely a glance was beginning to fray his already thin patience.
A young couple entered the restaurant, laughing about something. The hostess greeted them immediately with warm smiles and led them inside without hesitation.
Vincent’s jaw clenched.
He’d dressed carefully for this meeting. He wore his best suit…his hair was styled perfectly. He looked successful. But the staff treated him like he was invisible.
“Excuse me,” Vincent said, approaching the receptionist’s desk for what felt like the hundredth time. “I’ve been waiting for over two hours now. When exactly will Manager Idris be available?”
The receptionist…a young woman with perfect makeup and a look of indifference she didn’t even look up from her computer. “ As I mentioned before, sir, Manager Idris is very busy today. If you’d like to make an appointment for another time…”
“I don’t want another time,” Vincent interrupted, his voice rising slightly. “I was told he’d be available shortly. It’s been two
hours.”
“I understand your frustration, sir, but you’re welcome to reschedule…”
“I’m not rescheduling,” Vincent snapped. “I need to see Manager Idris today. Now. Tell him Vincent Lu is here, and it’s urgent.”
The receptionist’s fingers paused over her keyboard. Irritation was evident on her face. “I’ll check again, Mr. Lu. Please wait here.”
She stood and disappeared through a door behind her desk.
Vincent remained standing at the counter, his humiliation growing with each passing second. The receptionist returned five minutes later. “Manager Idris will see you now. Please follow me.
Finally, Vincent straightened his jacket and followed her through a maze of hallways, past the main dining area with its crystal chandeliers and white–clothed tables, into the administrative wing of the restaurant.
Manager Idris ‘s office was smaller than Vincent expected. The man himself sat behind a modest desk, reviewing paperwork with reading glasses perched on his nose.
He was in his late fifties, His gray hair was neatly combed, wearing a simple but well–tailored suit. He looked up when Vincent
entered.
“Mr. Lu,” he said warmly. “It’s good to see you again. Please, sit.‘
Vincent nodded and took the chair across from the desk. “Thank you for seeing me, Manager Idris. I know you’re very busy.”
For you, I can spare a few minutes,” Idris replied, still smiling as he settled back into his seat. He folded his hands on the desk, posture open, accommodating. “How have you been?”
Vincent returned the smile, though he didn’t miss the way Idris’s eyes remained sharp, and watchful. “I’ve been well. I appreciate you making time.”
“Of course,” Idris said smoothly. He picked up a file, then set it aside untouched. “You helped me once, Mr. Lu. I haven’t forgotten that.”
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His tone remained pleasant as he continued, “So, tell me. What brings you here today? How can I help?”
Vincent had rehearsed this conversation in his head during the two hour wait.But sitting here now, with Manager Idris‘ cool gaze fixed on him, all those careful plans evaporated.
“I need an invitation to Madame Duchamp’s gala,” Vincent said bluntly. “This Saturday.”
Manager Idris’s expression didn’t change. “I see.”
“My fiancée…Victoria Cole, CEO of Cole Enterprises….needs to attend. It’s crucial for her business. I was hoping you might be able to help arrange that.”
“Arrange an invitation,” Manager Idris repeated slowly. “To Madame Duchamp’s annual gala.”
“Yes.”
Manager Idris removed his reading glasses and set them carefully on his desk. “Mr. Lu, I’m not sure you understand what you’re asking.”
“I understand perfectly,” Vincent said, leaning forward. “I know the event is exclusive. I know invitations are limited. But surely there’s some flexibility…”
“There isn’t.”
The flat refusal stopped Vincent mid–sentence.
Manager Idris continued, his voice patient but firm. “The gala’s guest list is curated personally by Madame Duchamp months in advance. Every invitation is accounted for. There are no spare tickets. The list was finalized six weeks ago.”
“But surely for someone like…”
“Every year,” Manager Idris interrupted, “we receive hundreds of requests for invitations. From business leaders, celebrities, politicians. People with far more influence than…” He paused delicately. “Than your fiancée currently possesses. We turn them all down. The answer is always no.”
Vincent’s hands clenched on the armrests of his chair. “Manager Idris, I’m not asking for a favor without offering something in return. I’m prepared to compensate…”
“The invitations aren’t for sale,” Manager Idris said sharply. “And even if they were, you couldn’t afford them.”
The insult hung in the air between them.
Vincent’s face flushed red. “You don’t know what I can afford.”
“Don’t I?” Manager Idris ‘s expression remained neutral. “Mr. Lu, I’ve been in this business for thirty years. I can recognize desperation when I see it. You’ve been waiting in my lobby for two hours, trying to leverage a connection from a single dinner three years ago, asking for something you know is impossible. That tells me everything I need to know about your current
situation.”
“That’s not…”
“And even if I wanted to help you,” Manager Idris continued, “which I don’t, it would be impossible. The invitations are physical tickets, personally signed by Madame Duchamp, with security measures that prevent forgery. There are exactly one hundred and fifty of them. All one hundred and fifty have been distributed. There are no extras.”
Vincent stood abruptly, his chair scraping back. “You’re being unreasonable. All I’m asking for is one invitation. One. Surely in an event of that size, one additional guest wouldn’t…”
“Sit down, Mr. Lu.”
The command in Manager Idris ‘s voice made Vincent hesitate.
“I said sit down.” His smile dissaparing.
Vincent slowly lowered himself back into the chair, his jaw clenc
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Sara Lili is a daring romance writer who turns icy landscapes into scenes of fiery passion. She loves crafting hot love stories while embracing the chill of Iceland’s breathtaking cold.
