The Business of Shadows
Roman’s day began in the Quarter, where the noise of the streets mingled with the scent of powdered sugar and coffee drifting from cafés. He crossed into one of his hotels, the polished marble lobby bustling with guests, a pianist playing faintly from the corner.
The receptionist, a sharp-eyed young woman, straightened as he approached. “Mr. Delaunay,” she greeted quickly, nerves and pride woven into her voice.
“Morning,” Roman said smoothly, his voice carrying authority without raising in volume. He leaned across the counter slightly, lowering his tone. “Occupancy?”
“Ninety-two percent,” she answered instantly. “We’re fully booked for the weekend. There was some trouble last night—one of the shipments didn’t arrive for the kitchen. The chef had to substitute on
