Page 32 of Heavy Is The Crown

And then he heard it: the sharp click of heels against polished floors. A voice. Familiar. Smooth. Unbothered. Slightly amused.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

Kenyatta turned, and for the first time in a long time, he was caught completely off guard.

Standing before him, dressed in a form-fitting olive-green dress, curves sitting just right, face flawless, energy untouched by bullshit, was—

Gas station bae.

Krys.

For a split second, his smirk flickered, caught somewhere between surprise and pure entertainment.Well, ain’t this some shit.

“Damn. Bae, you stalking me?”

Krys crossed her arms, eyes full of disbelief, but there was something else there too. Amusement?

“You’re here for the job?”

Kenyatta arched a brow, folding his arms. “You’reChris?”

“Krysta Davis, yes. They call me Krys.”

He let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “Ain’t that some shit.”

Krys sighed, already moving past it. She turned on her heel and motioned for him to follow her into an office.

She didn’t hesitate. Didn’t even give him a second glance. All business; all boss.

But he noticed things. The way she moved; sharp, deliberate, like she ran this whole damn building. The way her waist-length hair swayed as she walked, sleek and freshly styled, like she never had an off day. The way her nails, simple, elegant, neutral, clicked against the desk when she sat down and flipped open a folder.

Kenyatta immediately clocked the massive presence sprawled out in the corner, eyes watching him with an intensity that made his instincts sharpen. The Cane Corso was built like a fortress, muscles rippling beneath sleek, jet-black fur. His head lifted slightly at their entrance, ears perked, but he didn’t move; just observed, assessing like he was waiting to determine whether Kenyatta was a problem.

Kenyatta slowed his steps, narrowing his eyes. “The fuck is that?”

Krys, completely unbothered, walked past the beast and took a seat at her desk. “That,” she said smoothly, “is Musa.”

Musa’s dark, intelligent eyes flicked to Kenyatta, still unmoving, still watching.

Kenyatta let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “Oh, sothisyour nigga, huh?”

Krys gave a confident smile, tapping her nails against the desk. “Yep, and before you ask—Yes, he’s loyal and protective when it comes to me.”

Kenyatta grinned, but there was an edge of caution in his stance. “Right. And he just chillin’ in here like an employee?”

Krys shrugged, glancing at Musa. “He’s used to being in the office sometimes. The staff is used to him too. He minds his business—unless I need him not to.”

Kenyatta huffed, eyeing the dog again. Musa still hadn’t moved, but there was no mistaking the way he carried himself—like he was always in control of the room. The damn dog had presence.

“Man, you really named him Musa?” Kenyatta asked, stepping to the chair across from her desk.

Krys nodded. “Full name, Mansa Musa.”

Kenyatta let out a low whistle, nodding knowingly. “A’ight, yeah. I see you

Krys arched a brow, slightly impressed. “You know your history?”

Kenyatta gave her a look. “What type of nigga don’t know about Mansa Musa? C’mon now. Richest African ruler to ever live. Nigga had wealth they still talk about centuries later.”

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