The thing with Wizengamot appointments was that they were a bitch to get through in anything resembling a timely fashion, and Ross had been in the office longer than he would have liked, dictating notes to his secretary over dinner in the office. He also sent Macmillan on a quest to acquire - or have someone acquire, Ross did not particularly care - a small potted marigold, which Ross brought home with him.
Eventually he released himself and his secretary, and took the floo network home. Ross hung his coat before coming into the bedroom, still carrying the little marigold.
"Far too late," Ross said, with a sheepish grin to Roslyn. He should have known she'd still be up; she hated sleeping alone. "But with a plant?"
Eventually he released himself and his secretary, and took the floo network home. Ross hung his coat before coming into the bedroom, still carrying the little marigold.
"Far too late," Ross said, with a sheepish grin to Roslyn. He should have known she'd still be up; she hated sleeping alone. "But with a plant?"