Chapter 6
The bass rumbles through the Blue Note, familiar now after nearly three weeks of visits.
Two weeks have passed since I kissed Orien Bellamy and immediately fled like the building was on fire.
I stayed away from the Blue Note for four days afterward.
Four days of throwing myself into work, reviewing the data I copied from their servers, and reminding myself that I already have a place in the world.
Because the kiss hadn’t changed anything.
It couldn’t.
Orien Bellamy might be my mate, but I am still a Vartanian.
My family still comes first.
My mission still exists.
And pretending otherwise because an Alpha can make my pulse misbehave would be unforgivably stupid.
By the time I returned to the Blue Note, I’d convinced myself I could handle the situation as long as I stopped focusing exclusively on Orien.
So, I’d shifted my attention elsewhere.
Instead of spending every visit trying to get under his skin, I’d started getting to know the rest of the Blue Note Crew. Petra. Ghost. Kain. Reef, when he remembered who I was. Dex, who guards the door to the backrooms when the club gets busy. The regulars who treat the lounge like a second home.
Officially, it was intelligence gathering.
Understanding an organization means understanding the people who make it function.
Unofficially, it gave me an excuse to avoid being alone with the Alpha who kept making me question instructions I’d spent years following out of blind loyalty.
Besides, if the rest of the crew trusted me, Orien would be more likely to bring me deeper into the organization eventually.
At least, that’s what I keep telling myself.
But I can’t keep my distance from Orien any longer.
My last meeting with Alexei hadn’t gone well.
My brother is tense at the slow progress I’ve made, which I’m sure Uncle Mikhail is behind.
Alexei has never before questioned how long an infiltration mission takes.
He knows it’s delicate work, and pushing for too much too fast could get me killed.
But the family council is running out of patience.
So they’d given me a way in that requires I approach Orien again.
The lounge is warm after the winter cold outside, the crush of bodies heating the already toasty space to almost uncomfortable levels.
Ghost lifts a hand in greeting from behind the counter as I approach. By now, I’ve become a familiar fixture among the regulars who cycle through on weeknights rather than the heavier weekend crowds.
I shrug out of my oversized cardigan, tying the sleeves around my waist to give my ass the illusion of fullness.
I’ve cycled through several outfits at this point, narrowing in on what draws Orien’s attention the most. His interest tends to settle on my neck and legs, so I figure I’ll tease him tonight by wearing a shirt with a collar high enough to brush my chin.
A whiskey sour appears on the counter in front of me, and I raise my head to see Ghost, already slipping away to serve the next customer.
“Thank you,” I call after him, but he’s already returned to his work.
Petra waves from the corner booth where she sits with two of her friends. “Lee! Come here a second!”
I weave through the crowd to her table, careful not to bump into anyone or spill my drink. “Hey, stranger.”
Petra had made good on her offer to introduce me to her friends, and they had decided I would be their new bestie. I hadn’t discouraged the idea, and we’ve met a few times outside of the lounge.
Her eyes crinkle at the corners. “We missed you on Sunday. I thought we had plans for brunch.”
“Sorry, got caught up with work.” I don’t mention how my Heat had come, and I’d spent a miserable two days confined to my apartment. It’s better she think I’m a flake so when family disrupts future plans, the pattern is already established. “Next week?”
“Sure thing.” She smiles, and I clap her on the shoulder before continuing on my way.
Kain breaks away from his conversation with the bass player long enough to raise his glass in acknowledgment when I pass. I lift my drink in return and keep moving, checking in with Dex by the employees-only door to the back rooms.
“Dex!” I call, leaning in a little to be heard over the music. “How did your daughter’s recital go?”
His face lights up. “She killed it. I recorded it if you want to see?”
“I’d love to,” I say, and mean it.
Dex pulls out his phone, flipping through it with thick fingers until he finds the video. On screen, his tiny daughter thunders through a rendition of Beethoven on a piano much too big for her.
I make appreciative noises at the right moments, my attention split between her performance and the room behind me, which I’m monitoring in the reflection of a mirror on the wall.
“No shit she killed it,” I say when the video ends. “She’s amazing.”
Dex beams, shoving his phone back into his pocket. “She gets it from her mom. No musical talent in my family.”
“Sounds like you got lucky.” I slide back into the crowd, drink in hand. “I’ll let you get back to work, but text me when you’re free. I’ll buy you both ice cream!”
The exchange takes under two minutes, but I file away the details.
The performance is as much for the bar as for Dex himself.
I’ve done this a dozen times in the several weeks with a dozen different people.
Each conversation, each memory, each shared moment builds my reputation as an outgoing, harmless friend that’s become another part of the Blue Note’s fabric.
It’s what I wanted. What the mission requires.
But I didn’t expect to enjoy it.
I stop by a table of semi-regulars, listening to their complaints about the weather long enough to satisfy basic courtesy before I move on.
Despite myself, I keep tracking Orien at the far end of the bar, where he sits with his back facing the wall, a glass of dark liquid untouched in front of him.
Tonight, he wears a dark henley with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows, exposing the long lines of his forearms. His hair, cropped close at the sides and a little longer on top, falls across his forehead. Without the cool watchfulness in his eyes, he might appear boyish.
He’s not talking to anyone as he watches the room with a careful attention that leaves me wondering if anything happens in this place without him clocking it.
The band on stage shifts to a slower number, the lead singer’s voice carrying over the crowd without the microphone as she leans forward into the chorus. People shift and settle, a couple near the dance floor swaying together.
With a deep breath to brace myself, I take the last swallow of my whiskey sour, set the empty glass on a passing tray, and strike off across the room toward Orien.
He doesn’t turn as I approach, but the slight straightening of his shoulders tells me he’s aware of my presence.
The band on stage slides into a slower song, the guitarist’s fingers moving lazily over the strings while blue light spills across the back wall. Orien sits with one elbow propped against the bar, his drink resting near his hand. From a distance he looks relaxed.
Up close, the tension riding his shoulders tells a different story.
I slide onto the stool beside him.
“Hey.” I angle my body toward him. “Good set tonight.”
Orien spares me a glance before his attention returns to the stage. “They’re consistent.”
The word lands with enough weight to make me wonder if he’s still talking about the band.
I lift my hand to signal Ghost for another drink. “There’s value in consistency.”
A quiet huff leaves him, as if to say he knows exactly what game I’m playing.
Ghost appears in front of us long enough to slide a whiskey sour onto the bar before disappearing back into the crowd.
I wrap my fingers around the cold glass. “I wasn’t trying to play coy. I just freaked out a little.”
That finally earns me his full attention, and the amber light catches in his eyes as he studies me. “And now?”
“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.