He opened the door before she knocked a second time.
Petricia stood in the hallway, wearing a cardigan over her day clothes, indicating she had dressed down but hadn't fully changed, suggesting she had given it some thought. She held nothing—no paperwork, no excuse.
"You didn't make tea," she said, looking past him into the apartment. "What a liar..."
"No," Mike said.
She looked at him. "You said you were going to make tea."
"I said I was going to make tea, so I asked if you wanted some." He stepped back from the door. "Come in."
She entered the room with the air of someone who had already made up their mind to come in but was controlling the pace of their movement. She paused near the desk, glanced at the open book there, looked out the window, and directed her gaze anywhere but at him.
"It's so late calling me here," she said.
"It's nine-fifteen," Mike stated as he shut the door.
"Gerald could wake up."
