Page 39 of Heavy Is The Crown

She mumbled it back, still focused on her tablet.

Kenyatta straightened, his chest tight.

Brooke had been watching the whole exchange, shaking her head. “You can’t just pop in and out and expect her to jump for joy, Yatta. That ain’t how this works.”

“I know that.”

“Do you?”

He didn’t answer. Didn’t need to.

He just exhaled hard and turned for the door. “I’ll be back Sunday.”

Brooke called after him, voice dripping in sarcasm. “Hope you don’t flake like last time.”

Kenyatta didn’t respond. Just stepped out, letting the door shut behind him. The weight of everything settled on his shoulders.

This was what starting over felt like. Humbling. Frustrating. But this time he wasn’t going to fold.

Chapter 9

The hum of diesel engines vibrated through the lot as Krys stood outside the dispatch office, arms crossed, eyes sharp, scanning the yard like a hawk.

The last two trucks pulled out for their morning hauls, their chrome grilles glinting under the early sun. The sound of shifting gears and air brakes filled the space, a familiar symphony she had learned to command, not just listen to.

Davis Freight & Logistics was her domain now. What started as her handling dispatch calls for her daddy in her early twenties had turned into her running the entire damn operation.

And she did it well. Her father built this company. She made it better.

“Yo, Krys!” Marcus, one of her senior drivers, jogged up, swiping sweat off his brow. “That Tennessee load? We good on fuel costs?”

Krys lifted a brow, tilting her head slightly. “Did Gina not update you?”

Marcus shifted. “I mean, she said something, but—”

“Then why the hell are you asking me?” Krys cut in smoothly, slipping her sunglasses onto her nose. “That budget adjustment wasn’t a suggestion. Y’all got an allowance for fuel. Make it stretch.”

Marcus chuckled, holding his hands up. “C’mon now. You know I ain’t dumb enough to play with your money.”

Krys smirked. Damn right.

She glanced down at her phone, checking the time. 10:42 AM. Time to switch hats. Being the boss over her father’s trucking company was just one part of her world. There was still realty properties, both commercial and residential.

By the time she pulled up to her apartment building on the west side, just outside the Red District, she was already on her phone, balancing the wheel with one hand while handling a tenant dispute.

“Ms. Carmichael, I hear you,” she said, stepping out of her Porsche Macan, her heels clicking against the pavement. “But that leak was already fixed. If it’s still giving you issues, I’ll have maintenance check it—”

A pause. A frown.

“No, ma’am, we are not reducing rent because your faucet drips at night.”

She ended the call with a sigh, slipping her phone into her Hermès handbag.

“Morning, Krys.”

She turned to see Julius, one of her property managers, walking up with his clipboard. The man was efficient; been working with her since she acquired the property two years ago.

“Everything good?” she asked, adjusting her purse strap.

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