Page 7

The scent of garlic-seasoned chicken and roasted vegetables filled the air as Krys stepped into her mother’s kitchen. The warm, inviting aroma mingled with the faint citrusy fragrance of whatever candle Pam had burning on the counter; probably something expensive, because Pam didn’t do cheap anything.

The house was pristine, not in the cold, untouched way some people kept their homes, but in the way that screamed this is a Black mama’s house, where every surface stays wiped down, every throw pillow fluffed, and there’s a decorative bowl on the coffee table that you better not touch.

Pam stood at the kitchen island, chopping bell peppers with ease, her movements fluid, almost effortless. Cooking was her therapy, meal prepping her Sunday ritual. Krys used to roll her eyes at it when she was younger, but now she admired it.

Her mama was sharp, intentional, and always put together, even in her fitted jogger set and silk headwrap, she looked like she had a man with money somewhere waiting on her call.

Pam glanced up, spotting Krys as she strolled in and made herself comfortable on a barstool.

“Oh, look who finally decided to grace her mother with her presence.”

Krys smirked, reaching for a carrot stick from the plate of prepped veggies. “Oh, please. I was just here two weeks ago.”

Pam scoffed, setting the knife down with a little extra emphasis. “Two weeks too long. I could’ve been dead, and you wouldn’t have known.”

Krys gave her a pointed look. “Ma.”

Pam grinned, wiping her hands on a kitchen towel. “I’m just saying.”

Krys shook her head, watching as Pam moved around the kitchen with the type of confidence and precision that came from years of holding shit down.

Her mother had been both parents before, had carried a home, a career, and the weight of betrayal, all while keeping her head held high. Krys respected it but she also feared it. Because what if she ended up the same way?

Pam leaned against the counter, eyeing her daughter.

Krys eyed her back. “So, what’s on your mind? You got that ‘ let me impart some wisdom ’ look on your face.”

Pam chuckled. “Girl, I always got wisdom to impart. Whether or not you listen is a whole other thing.”

Krys smirked, biting into another carrot. “Try me.”

Pam studied her for a moment before sighing. “You ever think about settling down?”

Krys raised an eyebrow. “This where we’re going today?”

Pam shrugged. “I mean, I know you ain’t pressed about that couple’s night thing, but don’t act like you don’t think about it sometimes. Having somebody for real. Starting a family.”

Krys paused mid-chew. Did she think about it? More than she’d admit. She actually hated that she gave it that much thought. But it was there, intruding on her thoughts.

She tapped her nails against the marble counter. “It would be nice, I guess.”

Pam gave her that knowing look. “ Nice ?”

Krys rolled her eyes. “Okay, maybe more than nice. But you know how these men are. Honestly, I’m good. I got Musa. That’s all I need.”

Pam gave her a dry look. “A dog, Krys? That’s your answer?”

Krys lifted a shoulder, feigning innocence. “Musa’s loyal, protective, fine as hell, and don’t stress me out. What more could I ask for?”

Pam exhaled, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Lord, help this child.”

She fell quiet for a moment before letting out a dry chuckle, the kind that held history. “But you know…you’re right about these men. But there was a time when your daddy wasn’t always an ain’t-shit-man.”

Krys smirked. “Oh? I must’ve missed that era.”

Pam pointed a knife at her. “Watch it.”

Krys held up her hands in surrender, laughing.

Pam shook her head, going back to chopping the peppers with a little more force. “But for real, though. When we were younger…before all the nonsense? We were good. Real good.”

She smiled slightly, as if recalling a memory she hadn’t visited in a while. “We had fun together. We built a life. And then, well...”

Krys knew the rest of the story. Her father, Eddie, had cheated. Not just on some random one-time slip-up; he had a whole baby with another woman.

Pam had stayed through the first few mistakes, but that had been the deal-breaker.

Pam exhaled. “I loved your daddy, but love don’t keep a man home.”

Krys frowned slightly. “Do you regret it?”

Pam glanced at her. “Regret what? Leaving him?”

Krys nodded.

Pam shook her head without hesitation. “Hell no. I made the right decision for me.”

Krys stared at the counter.

Pam gave her a pointed look. “But that don’t mean I regret him. Or what we had.”

There was weight in those words; Krys felt it.

Because as much as she told herself she didn’t need a man, that she was good by herself…She wanted something real. She had always wanted that.

Pam finished chopping the last of the vegetables before turning fully toward her daughter. “I just don’t want you to get so used to being alone that you don’t leave room for someone else.”

Krys scoffed. “Ma, you act like I’m about to dry up and wither away.”

Pam smirked. “Well, that biological clock ain’t slowing down, baby.”

Krys sucked her teeth. “Here we go.”

Pam laughed, stepping over to the fridge. “I’m just saying. You’re successful, beautiful, and you don’t take nobody’s shit. But you also deserve somebody who won’t have you thinking every man is trash.”

Krys didn’t have a response for that. Because Pam had a point, and the part that scared her the most was she wasn’t sure if she still believed that kind of love existed.

Pam cracked open a bottle of water, side-eyeing her daughter. “Speaking of your daddy, you talked to him lately?”

Krys welcomed the shift in topic. “Yeah, last week.”

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 a woman ?

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.

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’re Chris ?”

“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, so this your 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.”

Krys’ grin widened. “Exactly.”

Kenyatta chuckled. “So, you got a whole king watching your office.”

She lifted a shoulder, her expression amused. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Kenyatta exhaled, shaking his head. “Shit. Yeah, I ain’t gon’ lie…I respect it. But I’ma also keep my distance ‘til we on better terms.”

Krys laughed. “Smart man.”

Musa finally shifted, standing up with the slow, deliberate movements of something that didn’t need to rush for anybody. He stretched, shook out his fur, then walked over to Krys, sitting next to her chair like a silent enforcer.

Kenyatta leaned back slightly, shaking his head. “Yeah. This some boss-level shit. You really out here with a whole personal security system.”

Krys just grinned. “Like I said. I don’t do unprotected investments.”

Kenyatta chuckled, running a hand down his face. “Man, let’s just get to this job talk before I gotta sign a waiver or some shit.”

Musa let out a low, approving huff.

Kenyatta eyed the dog one more time. Yeah…he was going to move real carefully around that one.

Leaning back, his posture relaxed now, watching her scan whatever was on her desk before her. Legs spread. Arms resting. Amused. “You gon’ act like you ain’t surprised.”

Krys didn’t even look up. “Oh, I’m surprised. I just hide it better than you.”

Kenyatta chuckled, rubbing his chin. Damn, she was sharp.

She sighed, shaking her head. “You know you didn’t even submit an application, right?”

Kenyatta’s smirk faltered. “What?”

Krys arched a brow. “Yeah. There’s no application for Kenyatta Hayes. You just showed up. Unannounced.”

Kenyatta exhaled sharply, rubbing his hand down his face. “Man, my pops told me to come through. Said I needed to talk to Chris. That’s it.”

Krys gave him a long, pensive stare. Eyes assessing, calculating, trying to figure him out the same way he did to people.

She tapped the folder. “So…maintenance, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“You handy?”

“Yeah.”

Krys tilted her head. “That’s all you got for me?”

Kenyatta gave a lazy grin. “I mean, I can lie if that helps.”

Then, she exhaled, like she was deciding how much patience she had left for him today.

Finally, she leaned back, tapping her nails against the desk. “I’ll give you the job…under one condition.”

Kenyatta arched a brow. “Here we go.”

Krys folded her hands in front of her. “I need a plus-one for a family event. My boyfriend canceled last minute.”

Silence.

Then—

Kenyatta laughed, shaking his head. “Ain’t no way you asking me for a favor.”

Her body gave in, relenting. “Okay, actually, I need you to pretend to be my boyfriend.”

Kenyatta blinked. “What?”

Stern. “I’m not repeating myself.”

Then the realization sank in. “You serious?”

Krys shrugged, her expression unreadable. “You scratch my back, I scratch yours. You in or not?”

Kenyatta studied her, his eyes lingering a little longer than necessary.

This woman had just met him. Barely knew his full name.

Yet here she was, proposing a whole fake relationship like it was just another business deal.

Krys waited, her expression smooth. A test.

Kenyatta stroked his chin, letting the moment stretch, drawing it out just enough to keep her wondering.

Then, his smirk returned.

“Ain’t nothing free, huh?” He extended his hand across the desk. “Deal.”

Krys took it, her grip firm, her nails cool against his skin.

Kenyatta glanced toward Musa. “You cool with it?”

Musa’s uninterested yawn was a slow, deliberate display of dominance, his massive jaws stretching wide, revealing sharp teeth and a heavy pink tongue, before snapping shut with an audible clack. His deep chest rumbled as he exhaled, eyes half-lidded, utterly unbothered by whatever nonsense Krys and Kenyatta had going on.

It wasn’t just a yawn; it was a statement. Dismissal. Disinterest. A warning wrapped in boredom.

But Kenyatta had a sense that the deal he just made with Boss Lady aka “Gas Station Bae” was going to be anything but boredom. This was about to be interesting.