Page 31 of Heavy Is The Crown

Pam chuckled. “Tell him I said, ‘hey big head.’”

Krys laughed. “You are so petty.”

Pam grinned. “A little.”

Krys shook her head, finishing her carrot stick.

The conversation was light again, but the weight of Pam’s words lingered.

Was she leaving room? Because sometimes, it felt easier to pretend she didn’t need love. Like she was completely over it.

But deep down she wasn’t sure if she believed herself anymore and that was a scary thought.

**********

Trinity Bay thrived on movement. Its pulse was a steady rhythm of ambition and survival, a city where hustlers, bosses, and ghosts of the past all moved under the same sky, some rising, some falling.

Kenyatta used to move through it like a king—no, a predator. A man who bent the city to his will. But every day it felt like the city had moved on without him.

He exhaled heavily, gripping the steering wheel of his Impala as he pulled into the parking lot of Terzetto, the upscale apartment complex where his father claimed a maintenance job was waiting for him.

It was bigger than he expected; at least thirty units, sleek, modern, and pristine. Not one of those run-down buildings where the property manager barely kept the lights on. This place had freshly painted parking lines, manicured lawns, and a security gate that actually worked.

Somewhere along the line, gentrification had crept in, and now folks who wouldn’t have set foot in this neighborhood years ago were walking their designer dogs past like it had always been safe.

Kenyatta scoffed, adjusting the collar of his polo shirt as he took it all in.

A maintenance job.

Fixing shit for people who’d probably clutch their purses if they knew his past. But pride wasn’t going to feed Kaliyah, and after being turned down at three places this week, he wasn’t in a position to be picky.

Bruce had told him to show up and ask for Chris. So here he was.

Kenyatta stepped inside the leasing office, the cool blast of AC hitting him instantly. A hint of expensive coffee hung in the air. The place was clean and modern, decorated in neutral tones with sleek glass furniture and black-and-white canvas prints of Trinity Bay’s skyline.

A young woman sat behind a polished white reception desk, typing away at a keyboard. She was pretty in that “Trinity Bay corporate chick” kind of way, neat ponytail, perfect nails, and a bored expression.

When she looked up and saw him, that expression changed, brows slightly raised, like she was already deciding if she needed to call security.

Kenyatta was used to that look. Didn’t make it any less irritating.

“Can I help you?”

His jaw tightened, but he kept his tone even. “Yeah. Here about the maintenance position. I was told to ask for Chris.”

She nodded, pressing the intercom.

“Ms. Davis? The maintenance candidate is here.”

Ms.Davis?

Kenyatta frowned slightly. Chris was awoman?

Didn’t matter as long as she wasn’t another suit-wearing, passive-aggressive manager ready to give him the same “We’ll be in touch” speech.

The receptionist gestured toward the waiting area, a sleek lounge space with leather chairs, glass tables stacked with real estate magazines nobody actually read.

Kenyatta didn’t sit. Didn’t like feeling like he was on somebody else’s time. It was that same restless feeling, the one that always hit before bullshit.

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