She knocked at seven, which was earlier than anyone in the household knocked on anyone's door, and that was the point.
"Come in."
She pushed the door open and Michael was in bed, sheets pulled to his waist, one arm behind his head, and thoroughly shirtless in the specific way of a man who had heard a woman's knock and made a rapid decision about his presentation. She turned around immediately, facing the door she'd just come through.
"I thought you were awake," she said to the wood.
"I am awake." She could hear the smile in it. "I'm very awake. Come in, Rosaline."
"I'll wait in the corridor."
"Don't be ridiculous." The rustle of sheets, the soft impact of feet on floorboards. "Give me two minutes."
