Watching You: KJ Elite Inc.

  WATCHING YOU

  K.J. Elite Inc.

  Book 1

  L.K. KRACEK

  To my patient and supportive husband for never giving up on me and pushing me to keep going. Forever and Always, Mike.

  My forgiving boys for never holding it against me when I hid under their beds and wrote all day long. I love you N, J & Z.

  And to some of the greatest friends a girl could ask for –Telela, Moose, Miki and Kristen – I’m too lucky, thanks for letting me use you!

  Sandra and Steph – yall will never know how much your support and honesty (and okay, flexibility and patience) means to me… there would be no book without yall there to read it! Yall are the best!

  Natalie – you’re my sister from another mister and not only could I not have gotten this far without your love and help, but I’d probably have no hair left. My little babooshka, Natalia, I adore you.

  Lastly, but certainly not least, my big sister. Since the beginning of time, we fought. It was the only thing we knew how to do with each other but no matter what, you always made me believe that I could write. You pushed me and made me feel like I could really do something special. You were the very first wind beneath my wings – the rest just gave me the extra push. I love you, Jessica; thank you. Forevermore, you’ll never know how much your simple and kind words meant to me, my Sissica.

  ∞

  Preface

  We had been tied together since as far back as I could remember, and then some. Leaving like a thief in the night wasn’t exactly how I had planned to do things, but I supposed it to be the best course of action considering the night’s events. Well, the night’s and pretty much our entire lives. There was simply no doubt about it: I was completely, absolutely, unconditionally head over stupid, damned heels crazy for Tommy Kane.

  As I stand here, staring at his sleeping God-like body, sun kissed and perfect in every unfair way, I commit his every single detail from head to toes and (especially) everything in between, to an air tight, unbreakable vault in the forefront of my mind. He is always where I want to be, but right now I have to go live my life and make my own dreams come true. If I stay tonight, I’ll never leave. I almost asked him to come with me, but I know Tommy better than anyone. I know that he feels an obligation to stick around for both of our mama’s, not just because I’m leaving, but because our brothers are all going off to join the mighty war. Someone has to stay for them.

  My heart would always be here and with one last look, I turn and run as fast as my little legs will carry me. I ran right out of the mother-in-law suite we commandeered as kids, to my waiting pickup truck, reliable ole’ Bessie. In the rearview mirror halfway out of the farm gates, I imagine his face chasing after my truck, lit up by the taillights, in nothing but a pair of jeans slung low on his hips, barefoot.

  “One day.” I say, to my imagination.

  Chapter 1

  5 Years Later

  “Well, I’ll be damned if you weren’t the best risk I ever took!” Blonde hair nearly white, with a paid for smile no one could ever get naturally, beams at me like the sun shining in through the floor to ceiling windows of the Conference Room. My hot shot agent-recently-turned-publisher slash best friend in New York, Matt Carver.

  He had just called me into his office. Situated on one of the top levels of a high rise overlooking Central Park; his office was a testament to how far we had come since after he “acquired” me and we made the move together from L.A. to the bright lights of New York City. Matt was dressed to kill in a designer navy blue, pinstripe suit with a pale, purple tie and matching socks tucked under beautiful, black, Gucci loafers. That’s how he liked his things, expensive as all get out.

  “Do you know what I have here?” He asks, his beautiful, electric blue eyes smiling, and excitement hitting me in waves. Matt holds up a large, overstuffed, manila folder with papers fighting their way out of every open end. I raise my brows in question, acting totally nonchalant, making him crack even more.

  “This, is every official offer, from every big name production company, screenwriter and people there and in between, requesting to option half of your books to make them movies!” He exclaims and jumps to his feet, exaggeratedly fanning me with the folder, needing both hands to hold it shut so the papers don’t fly everywhere. Clearing my throat to speak, he frowns at me as if he already knows what I am going to say.

  “Oh, no sweetheart. You worked hard for this and you are not going to stop the money AND fame train before it barely leaves the station.”

  “Look, I make plenty just writing and I have amazing fans. The best. It’s nothing against the idea of making movies or money, but I hate how the greatest books are sadly twisted, information left out or ill explained. Hell, even endings are altered. No. It’s not worth butchering my books for my loyal fans when they are happy with them the way they are.” I explain shaking my head.

  “Honey, duh! Wake up, you beautiful, naive little southern belle!” Matt smacks me on the head not so gently with his murder weapon of choice -- the enormous folder. “Is this thing working? You can increase your fan base by the 100’s of percent’s! Any author would kill for this opportunity.”

  I yawn with exhaustion on my heels and Matt waves me off, scoffing, clearly thinking I am trying to blow off the rest of the conversation. I throw my arms up in the air to surrender and huff, “Matty, I am genuinely tired and just want to go home and sleep. Is this all?” My head cocked to the side, I point to the folder. At this declaration, Matt’s stern face goes soft and he sets the folder down then turns to put his hands on my shoulders gently. “You’ve got to get some sleep, love. This staying up all night is not healthy and it certainly is not good for your physical appearance. You’re starting to wear at the edges.”

  I gape at him caught off guard and my annoyance growing, “Oh, you’re so sweet, thank you!”

  “Have I ever been anything but honest with you?”

  “Fine, but I am tired.” I grumble, stomping like a petulant child. I’ve come to learn that if you are not winning, whine or wine.

  “Go.” Matt picks up the folder to hand it to me and dismisses our meeting holding his arm out and moving us to the door. “Just promise me you’ll think about it?” He throws out his bottom lip in a last attempt to break me. The woman in me just melted a little but I could not give in. Neverrrr.

  “I’ll think about it.”

  Okay, maybe.

  I point a finger at him, looking down it with that sweet southern belle, go-screw-yourself-kindly smile. “But don’t worry, I’ll probably send out personally hand-written thanks but no thanks replies!”

  “If you do, I’ll kill you.” He makes a serious face to make sure I understand and he adds, “Myself.”

  “Ooh, I’m quakin’ in my boots.” I tease throwing my arms up and shaking them, sending a few papers flying around. I chuckle and as if on cue, stumble a little, chasing the stray papers. Matt clucks like a mother hen and reprimands me. I never said I was Betsy Balance over here. Sheesh.

  “Seriously, we have to get you into some Miss Charm and Etiquette classes.” He opens the door for me just as his assistant slides by and accidentally bumps my elbow.

  Head down, he mumbles a few apologies and keeps moving.

  “Watch where you are going, Stu.” Matt scolds after him.

  “Y-yes sir, I’m s-sorry sir.” Stu stutters without turning to look at us.

  Matt looks back to me and rolls his eyes. “Seriously, decent help is so hard to find!”

  “Oh, Matt. You’re such a dick. Take it easy on him. He’s doing a great job for you.”

  I pause and edge closer to Matt, looking down at Stu, then whisper, “Have you ever realized I’ve never act
ually seen your assistant’s face? He always has his head down and mumbles then runs off. It’s kind of odd.”

  I study Stu; he is short with long, messy, brown hair and big bottle glasses hiding the rest of his features. He has no facial hair and his clothes appear to be hand me downs a size or two, too small, but business casual none the less due to Matt’s requirements. Stu shifts around his desk outside of Matty’s office and never looks up or around at anyone else.

  “Sweetheart, we don’t call that odd, we call it creepy but yes, I know he is doing a good job so I don’t think about it much. I just like to keep him on his toes. If he thinks his job is constantly in peril, I don’t care if he spats and sputters all day long, he will keep working at exceptional rates and I worry for naught!”

  “Like I said, dick.” I brush it off and start walking for the elevator with Matt at my side.

  He laughs maniacally, “Better believe it.”

  “Y’all are so weird in big cities!”

  He scoffs and looks down his perfect nose at me, “How do you know you aren’t the weird one?”

  This makes me chuckle and roll my eyes. “Because you would never hang out with me if I were.”

  “The money you make me, I would marry you.”

  His full belly laugh is contagious and I laugh along with him feeling so comfortable here with my best friend who has saved me from so many sad nights or possible drunk dials in all of the last five years.

  As if knowing where my thoughts are, he throws his arms around me and says, “You know I love you. It’s not about the money... anymore.”

  With a wink, Matt hits the elevator button and we step in as the doors open immediately, as if it were waiting for us already. My only guess is that the receptionist called it when we approached her desk.

  “I meant to tell you.” I say, pausing until the doors close and we are alone. “I got another one of those cards in the mail. What should I do with it?”

  Matt feigns interest but pales a bit when he turns to me then flicks his wrist down as if brushing off or wiping away the question in midair. “Just leave it out tonight and I’ll grab it when I come by.”

  “This is like, the fifth one I’ve gotten and the second one this week.” I point out while watching his facial expressions twist and change rapidly through a slew of emotions.

  Knowing the answer but sticking to his totally blasé attitude, he asks, “When did they start coming again?”

  Matt looks under his nails and does every other thing under the moon while impatiently waiting for either the conversation to change or the cart to arrive at the ground floor so he can walk me to my car and send me off.

  I know he only acts like they don’t matter so he wouldn’t spook me. The truth was, he was deeply concerned, more than I’ve ever been and probably ever would be.

  “About two months now.” I shrug.

  “Crazies! They’re everywhere!” He flails his arms around dramatically.

  “And you want me to turn my books into movies...” I joke trying to loosen him up again and he coughs quietly, pretending to clear his throat.

  “I’ll be over around, say, six. Want me to bring some food?”

  “No way. I cannot take another moment of sushi, hero’s or pizza in my face. Smell or sight. I’ll cook!” Knowing that Matt originates from L.A. explains the sushi, but it’s almost as if since we moved to NYC he has tried his damnedest to adapt and make himself a transplant New Yorker, which means way too much pizza and sub sandwiches named after famous ball players or Italian meals. Not that it isn’t super delicious, I just can’t handle it every single day and night and I am sort of partial to good ole’ down home cookin’! To me, there is nothing better and nothing comes close to a good old fashioned home cooked, soul food meal.

  He claps his hands and rubs them like an evil villain. “Aha, my plan has worked!”

  I laugh heartily at this, “What plan would that be, sir genius?” I knew that ever since my little country, fourth point of contact walked, or more rather stumbled into his life, he was in love with the southern way of living. Cooking, manners, traditions, all of it!

  “If I tell you...” He raised his eyebrows and wiggled them jokingly.

  He gave me a kiss on my cheek, opened my truck door and helped me in. He might be from the city but he treated me just as well as any southern gentlemen ever had.

  “Drive safe sweetheart and for the love of all things dear, lock your doors!” Matt closes my door and stands back as I drive out of the garage. Through the past five years, I could count on Matt for any and everything. Though I have kept my past life, essentially half of me, hidden from the whole world. In all cases, I am known as Taylor Ann Kane, but no one necessarily knew whether it was Ms. or Mrs. and as far as I’m concerned it ain’t any of their damn business. Just minutes after leaving him, I receive a text from Matt that reads:

  Gift coming for you, enjoy! ;) :*

  Matty’s presents weren’t always something I looked forward to. He had a tendency to send men to take me on dates. Any straight man he could find that was decently good looking would be sent my way in a stretch limo, dressed to the nines, holding a bottle of whatever the driver had on stock. Whenever I complain, Matt simply tells me to cowgirl up and quit complaining and to, at very least, be thankful they’re straight men who will fuck me silly.

  I’m shaking my head, smiling, knowing he can’t see me but he means well. I simply don’t have the time to worry about men, nor the desire and none could ever come close to the man who holds my heart anyway, should I be tempted. Though I’m still quite young, I don’t need to, per say, sow any wild oats, as far as men are concerned.

  I’d had my one true love, my whirlwind, breakneck, fairytale romance and want or need for nothing. I mean, if need be, I will always have my memories which have produced some wonderfully full and somewhat graphic romance novels, not to mention wildly successful. My thoughts drift back to the stupid fat folder sitting on my passenger seat and just as quickly as the thoughts come, I kick them back out, half tempted to throw the folder out the window while driving on E 79th Street, passing Lexington Avenue. I always lose myself in the architecture of the buildings and walking or taking a cab would be easier for me to take it all in, but I can’t do that to my Ole’ Bessie girl. I pat her dash and crank the radio to the first and only country station that the country God’s descended upon NYC and made right just so very recently.

  Pulling in front of the old converted warehouse that is now my too-large apartment, there was no limo, though in front of my door there were the monthly, enormous bouquet of multicolored tulips and even better box of chocolates. Ferrero Rocher to be exact, my number one favorite. I have no clue from where or whom they came, but a woman was not going to complain about chocolate or pretty flowers! Both, actually, are my favorite and I had always figured it for a coincidence since both are popular selections. This started after my first book was published and kept constant ever since, every month, for five and a half years, even after my move.

  “I could definitely use the chocolate today!” I sigh to myself and drag my sluggish body up the stairs. Along with the flowers and chocolate were two big boxes and a bag of letters. Despite the digital era, I try to stick to the traditional methods of contact. I always encourage my fans to write letters if they fancy and make it a priority to take the time to always respond. It feels more personal and sincere to the people who took the time out of their lives to escape with one of my “babies” and find solace or adventure in the words. Which is exactly why I have always wanted to write. There is nothing better in my mind, than finding a book you cannot wait to dive into and then cannot put down. After the book ends, you simply feel like a part of you has ended. A cup of tea, a cozy bed or couch and I was set!

  Who needs men? Me, me, pick me! A sad little voice shouts in my head. That love affair five and a half years ago had fueled a lifetime of dreams, memories and certainly characters, plots and love in my books. Plenty of steam to go a
round and hopefully will never go away; for that, I’d always be grateful. Even if he hadn’t come for me. Or contacted me.

  “Oh, mystery person. You always know when I need the chocolate fix. God Bless You!” I blew a kiss to the heavens and unlocked my front door, loading all the things in through the front door. Okay, so there was some kicking involved, but I was mostly gentle.

  “I should get a do...” Cut off as I trip over the bag I was struggling with and fly onto my face. “It takes skill to be this clumsy. I could seriously go pro.” Always talking to no one, which led me back to my original thought.

  “I need a dog.” Standing up carefully, I wave at the neighbor who was half in and half out of her door across the building, getting her paper, now standing to see if I’m alright.

  “Nosy ass neighbors wouldn’t realize I’m always talking to myself,” I mumbled then raised my voice, “Hi Mrs. Jenkins! Lovely day! Hope you get to take advantage of it. Your garden is looking wonderful upstairs!” She smiled a million dollar smile, which generally, if it cost a million dollars was fake as hell in this city. Waving, I backed into my door, eyeing her across the way, which made up the other half of the building on our level, and finally closed my door before she played her favorite game: 1 Million questions about Taylor’s life.

  I cursed the day I ever acted on how I was raised and took a plate of goodies over too that blue haired busybody.

  “And why in the hell is she gardening on a rooftop in NYC in November anyways? Hello!” Dropping my chin to my chest, I let a loud blow of hot air and laugh awkwardly at myself. “Seriously, I need a dog. I talk to myself way too much.” Jumping at the sound of my phone ringing in my back pocket, I roll my eyes at myself and pull it out. Unknown. Huh. This was also a new recurrence.

  Answering, I sweetly say, “Hello?”

  Nothing.

  Creeptastic much?

  “Hello? Is someone there?”