Ellis
I flipped through the report on my desk without really reading the words. I’d already glanced over it enough to get the gist of it. “Mr. Wesley,” I growled and looked up to glare at the man sitting in the chair across from my desk. “Care to explain why revenue at the hotel is down by thirteen percent?”
Lawrence Wesley had the gall to look slightly surprised by my question. The man was in his late sixties, with a shiny bald head and a fringe of gray hair around the edges, and bushy sideburns. He was dressed in a pink dress shirt with a mauve tie. What kind of man wears a pink shirt? He sat very straight and proper, as though he had a ramrod for a spine, and held his hands folded in his lap, like a deacon at church. Just the look of him annoyed me.
“This is a normal fluctuat
