Crown of Sins - Chaelisa

-Chapter Fifteen-

*Roseanne's POV*

"Him," I say at my eyes land on a waiter who definitely didn't even try to look the part-his shirt is untucked, and I'm pretty sure his eyes are redder than some of the dresses in here. But I don't point or even indicate with my head.

Lisa follows my gaze, making note without responding other than the fakest smile I've ever seen her try to wear.

"No. Stop that," I say with a little laughter leaking into the last word.

Then her grimace turns into a genuine grin, and my knees go a tiny bit weak. I know I was toying with her earlier-but she has no idea what it does back to me. She'll never know.

Also, this sucks.

Every single person I point out could also be noticing me. Probably is, because I'm far less inconspicuous. I'd have toned down the glamor if I'd had any kind of hint about what was going to go on. And I definitely would have skipped the literal tiara in black diamonds. Not my best choice ever.

Though it does look amazing with these red-bottomed heels and a dress that costs more that it will take to bail Tate out of jail if Lisa ever decides this isn't worth the deal.

"Him too," I say to the table as I pick up a pen from the silent auction table and twirl it in my fingers until it stops on another waiter. "What did they do, cater the whole thing?" I mumble.

"Maybe," Lisa answers my rhetorical questions. But not really, they didn't. And I really don't want to share this bit of information, but I know I have to. If this is going to work, for both of us, I have to do my part. Unfortunately.

"See the guy who looks like he's been in the sun too long, in the charcoal suit-talking to Miss Prime Time TV?" I turn to him, pick a piece of imaginary lint from Lisa's shoulder so that I have the excuse to lean into her just a little, while she's looking where I was a minute ago. "Yeah, she has no idea who she's making small talk with."

Lisa bends down, and brings my hand to her lips, faking affection better than almost anyone I've been with who actually felt the real thing. It wipes what I'd been about to add from my mind. She's too good at this.

"Yeah..." she prompts me with something close to need in the word.

"Right. You won't recognize him because he's shaved his beard off for this, and dyed his hair. But he's The Scion. As in number one," I say. "Liam Wood."

I know I didn't have to add his name, Lisa knew exactly who I meant before that. But the flex of her jaw makes it worth it. I love watching her muscles tighten, even if I shouldn't indulge.

Liam Wood is notorious, infamous. He came up the ranks in The Ques-for Q Street, the edge of their territory-after joining at, like, twelve. And then when The Ques were taken down, he clawed and fought to start his own family. And, boy, has he.

As I turn, moving onto the next item up for bid, an idea strikes. Maybe I can gain some extra favor, a little leeway with Lisa, if I play ball. Give more than I'm taking. For now.

"And you know her," I say of the celebutante who's very clearly way past drunk already even though we're only an hour into the night. "I know, from several sources, that she's got sticky fingers." I mean it's not the juiciest bit of criminal gossip I could give her, but it's something I guess.

Lisa smiles into the screen of her phone, that I hadn't noticed her pull from her pocket.

"Wait," I say as my fingers land on her wrist.

Where our skin meets there's heat, more than I expected, and I don't know if it's coming from her or me. But the temptation to keep touching her, to find out or to do more, is strong.

"Feel free to keep your hands to your-fucking-self" Lisa mumbles, suddenly alert, yanking her hand away from me like I've bit her. Not that I wouldn't very much enjoy that. Shit. Not how I expected that to go, though.

But I try again, letting the rude slide off of me. Slowly moving my fingers to where her pulse is hammering as she watches me, I touch her again. I need her to meet my eyes. That's the only time she really listens.

"If you send your guys in now while it's only low levels then Liam's going to slip out. And he'll just replace these dudes with new ones in less than a week. I guarantee they don't know enough to get you to Liam. I don't want you to lose him," I say in way too much honesty, bordering on the vulnerable.

I know she sees it, because her entire face softens, and her hand slides down until she's holding onto mine. Never breaking our contact along the way.

"Wait until he goes back into the kitchen too. I know he will," I add.

Looking to our intertwined fingers, like she isn't the one who moved to hold my hand, Lisa looks almost surprised as she considers what I've said. I know it'll be hard for her to take advice from me, but in the end, her phone goes back into her pocket as she agreed.

"Okay," she says as her face comes closer to mine. "I'll just blame you if we end up waiting too long." And then Lisa is smiling as she pulls me away from the tables we've been hovering around and out onto the dance floor.

It's possible I was wistfully thinking of doing the same to her earlier. But I hadn't thought it would be well received.

"To keep a better eye on Liam," Lisa assures me as she pulls me hard against her chest. One hand moves down to my lower back while the other moves my hands to the back of her neck. A girl could get used to this.

Not this girl, but I'm sure there are plenty out there who could. Surely.

I don't waste the opportunity, though, knowing that, in this dress, I might be able to make Lisa a little crazy. Swipes of my hip and accidental brushes of my chest, keep happening. And it's deliciously easy to get her eyes to close when my nails find her scalp for a moment.

The music seems louder as we dance, and the room warms up when her eyes take me in-even if it's only for a few seconds at a time between glances at the dude who very likely ordered my attack a few days ago. It's easy to forget about that part.

That is until Liam heads back toward the restrooms, with a last-minute turn into the kitchen instead-right after a waiter who may or may not be wearing two different shoes.

"Lisa," I say, pulling her attention to my lips like they're holding onto a magnet. "Make the call now. Send in your troops."

It takes her absolutely no thought to trust me. Her phone comes out, while her other hand stays firm around my back, and then she's texting her team to make their move.