He runs his hand over his chin, dark with stubble. “I do not suppose you have remembered how to shave.”
As my hopes plummet, my brain spins. Could I manage it? That would make him happy and give us time to talk, give me time to prove I’m genuinely interested in his studies and would make an excellent replacement for James the lost assistant.
Except I have no idea how to use a straight razor and might slit his throat.
Damned ethical dilemmas.
He rubs at his stubble, and I can’t help noticing the strong line of his jaw, the curve of his lips, his ink-dappled fingers.
The letter. I have done so well forgetting that damned letter, and I really don’t need it creeping back now.
Yes, Gray’s a good-looking guy. Yes, he’s an interesting guy. But he’s my boss and hell, no. Scrub that letter from my brain, please.
“Catriona?”
I wrench my gaze away and manage a shallow curtsy. “Apologies, sir. I was thinking of how much I hate to refuse such a simple request, but I do fear that if I wield a razor, we may end up with an unexpected display of blood splatter to study.”
His laugh is so unexpected that I jump a little.
“I understand,” he says. “If you do recall how to use a razor, though, I would appreciate it. While I have no interest in expanding the household, that is the one downfall to a lack of male indoor staff.”
“I’ll try to recall the skill, sir.”
“Please do. Oh, and speaking of male staff, Simon is gathering the day’s papers for me. Please bring them to me immediately. I am most interested in what the press has to say regarding our killer.”
Ourkiller? That’s promising.
“Might I read them after you, sir? I am also interested.”
“Of course,” he says, and he returns to contemplating the mysteries of the blank wall before I’m even out the door.