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 actually 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!