Chapter 1 - ATL Runaway

Miami, Florida 

Chelsea ran hastily under the rain, the water bodies on the road splashing about as she stepped on them. She couldn't slow down, she just couldn't. She gripped her luggage bag tightly as she leapt onto puddles after puddles.

She had just duped a merciless Georgian mafia don, based in Atlanta, of hundreds of thousands of dollars and she knew she'd be on the run for life. She had escaped to Florida but she still didn't feel at peace.

She felt like someone had followed her onto the bus she boarded and was still following her. She had to shake whoever it was off and lodge in a hotel. She finally came to a stop at the entrance of Golden Petals, a premium-looking hotel.

"I wanna book a reservation" she said, panting heavily.

The security outside exchanged looks and looked at her skeptically. She was wet and tattered and panting. Anyone who could afford Golden Petals either came in their own car or at least an Uber. The lady before them looked nothing like those people.

Sensing their skepticism, she reached into the luggage bag and brought out a wad of freshly minted dollar notes.

"Hey bitches!! Step aside motherfuckers" she cursed, flashing the money before their eyes. She also looked around from time to time.

The security got the point and simply stepped aside, granting her entrance into the hotel. She went in and walked straight to the desk. She booked a month-long reservation and made her way to the room reserved for her. 

It was more than a room though. It had a lounge, a large bathroom and a room. This was one of the things she loved about herself. She always treated herself specially after a successful swindle.

Yes, she was a swindler. This wasn't her first. But deep down, she hoped this would be her last. She had almost lost her life pulling this one off. She considered starting a business with the money but she had to lay low and 'flex' for sometime. 

She freshened up and came out to the lounge. Dinner had already been served. It was a sumptuous meal that really pleased her appetite as she took the first serving. Then she turned on the news. 

The headlines read: "CEO OF CROSS ENTERPRISES AND RENOWNED PHILANTHROPIST, DYLAN CROSS, OPENS YET ANOTHER FREE METRO-MALL IN MIAMI". A young man clad in a white suit jacket, trousers and inner shirt with no tie came onscreen. He had the air of a successful man who came from the slums but was now living it large. 

The way he smiled, spoke and gestured read meanings beyond 'philanthropist' to Chelsea. She knew a bad boy when she saw one. She had been with them, studied them and swindled them. So Mr-Do-Good here wasn't just a philanthropist, this she was sure of.

She smiled and berated her thoughts. Even though she had promised herself the Atlanta swindle would be the last, something ignited her desire to swindle again the moment she saw and read the man on the TV.

She decided to visit Cross Enterprises for a fake business proposal the next day. She ate her meal delightedly and slept off on the chair in the lounge.

At about 1am she woke up to loud music from below. The music wasn't actually loud but she could hear it boom faintly in her lounge. The vibrations also resonated mildly within. 

Wondering what party could be going on, she decided to have a peek outside. She walked to the entrance door and opened it, leaning outward to have a peek. Fortunately for her, an attendant was passing by.

"Excuse me, what's going on down there?" she asked elegantly. 

"Mr. Dylan is throwing a party with some highly distinguished people in the city, ma'am. They're celebrating the opening of the new metro-mall" the attendant answered respectfully. 

Chelsea noticed a hint of desire in his eyes as he spoke. Why won't he? She was putting on a silky robe that clung tightly to her rather well-curved outline. 

Tsk. Poor boy.

"Okay. Thanks" she replied and motioned to retreat inwards.

"Any thing you need, ma?" the attendant asked, halting her a bit.

"Oh, no, dear" she smiled and slammed her door shut. 

She had to give it to him, he was bold. He looked nice too. She probably would have gifted him his fantasy, she was also in need of good wood after the strenuous trip from Atlanta, but nah, she had other plans.

Dylan Cross was below. That meant she didn't need to wait till the next day to take her shot at the philanthropist. She quickly put on a black short gown that pronounced her bodily features correctly. She also put on a black bob wig to match.

She walked to the front of the lounge's full-length mirror and sized herself. She always loved her reflection. Striking an early twenties' innocent beauty even though she was in her mid-twenties, her looks had been her biggest factor in swindling.

Of course, good head counts too. 

After admiring herself and making sure she was well set, she put on a chain necklace with a specially crafted cross pendant, a parting gift from her Atlanta ex, and exited the lounge, graciously striding her way towards the elevator.

¤¤¤¤¤

Dylan heard the elevator ding and subconsciously looked in its direction. This was a habit he developed ever since he was a kid on the streets. You had to always be cautious or you'd get caught by the boys in blue, or worse still, by bigger and deadlier thugs.

Since then, he had always been aware of his surroundings. Even as he was now rich, danger was never far away. He had to always be ready to reach for his stick.

Since he arrived at Golden Petals, he had been observing whoever came out of the elevator, searching for a chick worth his status to please him tonight. He wasn't disappointed this time. 

He could swear he hadn't seen a chick so fine in Golden Petals ever. Their eyes met and they remained locked in each other's gaze as she strode out of the elevator, elegantly moving her hips as though she was in sync with the RnB music playing loudly. 

She walked past his table and they lost eye contact. He didn't resist the urge to tilt his head and noticed her sitting by the bar. Taking an excuse from his friends, he rose up, his white suited figure becoming a centre of attraction. He walked with a domineering demeanor, earning a bow or nod from some of those present.

He got to the bar and noticed her clutching a shot of bourbon. Impressed, he complimented her. 

"Not many girls around here can afford to pay for their own drinks here in Golden Petals" he started a conversation. 

"Well, I'm not a random girl" she replied, sipping the bourbon. 

"Most definitely is obvious. You're not stunned by me" he commented, his ego slightly hurt. He didn't get the adoration he expected when she saw him.

She gave a light laugh instead. "Why should I? You're popular here?" she asked.

Now his pride was fully bruised. Any and every fucking person in Miami knew who the fuck Dylan Cross was. Popular was an understatement. 

He swallowed his pride, inwardly grateful that the bartender was with another client and didn't witness the humiliation.

"We haven't been properly introduced. I'm Dylan Cross, CEO of Cross Enterprises, the leading company in Miami" he extended his hand for a shake. He had expected to faze her but she wasn't.

She took his hand and turned to face him. "And I'm Chelsea Landore. I just arrived from Atlanta" she smiled.

That was when he saw it. His expression froze as his gaze landed on the necklace around her neck. He quickly looked back at her face. He could swear he had seen that necklace in the same proximity as now. But on a different person. A person who now reminded him of his past deeds and present fears.