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“I’m still freaked out,” I admit. “But I’m dealing with it.”

He arches one brow. “How’s that going?”

Irritation prickles beneath my skin. “I’ll let you know.”

Orien takes in the high collar of my shirt, and a hint of annoyance flashes. “Did you enjoy fluttering around like a busy bee, putting your little feelers out?”

So the man does react. “If you want my attention for yourself, stop hiding back here.”

He considers me for a moment. “I enjoy watching you flit about. It’s always so…enlightening.”

“How about you enlighten me?” I say, taking a small sip of my drink before setting it down again. “Tell me one thing about yourself that other people don’t know.”

Orien’s mouth curves in the smallest of smiles. “Other people don’t know it because it’s none of their business.”

The response startles a laugh out of me, my irritation vanishing. “Fair enough.”

He turns to me, his knee coming to rest against my thigh. “What about you? What don’t I know?”

I refuse to back down. “Not telling. It’s not your business.”

His mouth curves, amusement taking the edge from his features. “Fair enough.”

“How about…” I tap my chin in consideration. “Tell me one thing you like that has nothing to do with this place.”

Orien considers me for a long moment, his pale eyes unreadable. “Crime shows.”

“True crime?” I ask, digging for more information.

His shoulders lift in a half-shrug. “Whatever’s playing.”

Intrigued by this personal insight, I scoot closer, bringing more of his leg into contact with mine. “What do you like about it?”

The corner of his mouth twitches as he notes the contact between us. “I like to see which mistakes get people caught.”

“Oh?” I take a small sip, letting the alcohol burn my mouth before I swallow.

When I set the glass down, some sloshes over the side, leaving a small puddle on the bar.

“Damn,” I mutter, looking around for a napkin, and spot a stack behind the Alpha.

I stand on the bottom rung of my barstool and reach across, my chest brushing Orien’s arm as I stretch for the napkins. A warm hand settles on my hip under my cardigan, balancing me, and I freeze for half a second as my pulse leaps.

The hand moves farther back, grazing my ass, and I almost fall off my barstool in my rush to sit back down.

“Sorry,” I mutter as I mop up the mess.

“No problem.” He takes another small sip of his drink, his throat working as he swallows.

I scan our surroundings in search of a distraction. “Is it me, or does the framed photo behind the bar change every week?”

His focus shifts to the photograph hanging on the wall, a black and white glimpse of an old street scene preserved in time.

“It depends,” he says, loud enough for me to hear over the music. “On Ghost’s mood.”

“So the pictures come from Ghost’s collection?” I ask.

“No, they belong to the Blue Note. This building has been around for a long time.”