Let Me Love You (McClain Brothers Book 1)

by Alexandria House

  There he was. The asshole. The smug asshole. That brought me out of my stupor. Forgetting I was sitting at Freda’s desk and could simply use the intercom, I texted my boss to let him know Big South was there to see him. Two seconds later, the door to his office burst open and Peter Park stepped out wearing a huge pair of shades. “South! Did you like the piece?”

  “Yeah, yeah. Let me holla' at you for a minute.”

  Mr. Park nodded vigorously and led him into his office, leaving me and Dunn alone. I didn’t realize I was staring at the door they’d closed behind them until Dunn said, “So…what’s up with you?”

  My eyes shifted from the door to him. “You talking to me?”

  He grinned. “Ain’t no one else in here, is it?”

  I sighed. “Can I help you with something?”

  “Shit, yeah…with your fine ass.”

  I shook my head. “Unh-uh. Nope. Not interested. At. All.” Letting my eyes fall back to my phone, I added, “Shit, no.”

  “Come on now, ma. I can make you see Heaven.”

  I glanced up at his gigantic ass again. “HELL, no.”

  “You want the boss? I’ma tell you right now, you ain’t his type.”

  I’d already gathered that from the size of the ass I saw in bed with him. I wasn’t flat in the back, but I had nothing on ole girl. Not that I cared anyway. So I said, “Good thing I don’t want his ass either then, isn’t it?”

  His eyebrows flew up. “Really? Then why were you drooling over him a minute ago?”

  “I wasn’t—”

  Peter Park’s door flew open again, startling me. Like, I actually jumped in my chair. Big South breezed past me without giving me a glance and Dunn quickly fell in step behind him, seemingly having dropped our little disturbing conversation. Talking about me drooling over that man. Was he craz—

  “Jo, I need to see you in my office.”

  I was staring after Big South again. Had no idea Peter Park was standing right in front of me. What the hell was wrong with me?

  I nodded, and as I followed him into his office, I thought about how Big South didn’t acknowledge me when he left, noticed the stern look on Mr. Park’s face as he fell into the high-backed chair behind his desk, and realized I was in trouble.

  Shit. He’d actually told on me.

  Snitching-ass mother—

  “Jo, uh…I’m gonna head out for the day. Would you let everyone know Big South has invited us to his listening party Saturday night?”

  “Um, okay. Sure. That’s-uh-it?”

  “Should there be something else?”

  “Oh, no-no. Just wondering if you need me to do anything else before you go.”

  “No.”

  “Okay.” I hesitated, then turned to leave.

  “Oh, yeah. He told me to be sure you knew he’s especially looking forward to seeing you there.”

  I spun around, confused. “He did?”

  He nodded. “He did.”

  “Uh…okay. Th-thanks?”

  I left his office feeling perplexed, and for some reason, thrilled.

  *****

  “So, let me get this straight. You acted a fool with Big South? Big South? Are you serious?!”

  “He’s an ass, Bridgette. I don’t care how famous he is. He’s a jerk.”

  “And you’re not going to the party because of that? Who in LA is not an ass? And hell, who cares?! Ain’t like you gotta date the man! Just go to the party and take me with you so I can meet him. Maybe he’ll put me in his next video.”

  “I thought you just finished filming a movie. Wouldn’t a video be a step backwards?”

  “Not a Big South video! The man is a rap icon. He has a career other rappers would die to have just a piece of. He’s had like ten platinum albums, toured the world several times, got a baby by a supermodel. Shit, he’s a rap god! A spot in one of his videos would put me in high demand as an actress!”

  “I’m not going, Bridge. Sorry—not sorry.”

  “You can’t take one for the team just this one time? For real, Jo? Not even for your BFF?”

  “Last time I took one for the team, I ended up hooking up with the man who eventually fucked up my life.”

  “All you were supposed to do was go to the party with me so I wouldn’t be alone. I didn’t put a gun to your head and make you talk to Sidney or date him or marry him. Damn!”

  “True, but I’m still not going.”

  “Jo! Come on! The man personally invited you. You’ve got to go!”

  “Okay, so he didn’t personally invite my ass to nothing. He invited the staff through Peter Park and then assumed I would show up because I guess he assumes no one will turn him down. Well, he gon’ learn better, because he could have invited me personally, had more than one opportunity to, but he didn’t, so screw him. I’m not going.”

  “Maybe if you hadn’t thrown a sack of jewelry at him, he would’ve personally invited you.”

  “Bridge—”

  Saved by my doorbell. I was too happy to end this call, because I knew Bridgette wouldn’t stop until I agreed to go and take her with me.

  “That’s my door, gotta go,” I said, ending the call before she could respond. I made my way to my front door and smiled at the sight of the love of my life on the other side. Taking her from my neighbor, I said, “You could’ve used your key, Ms. Sherry.”

  She shook her head. “Thought you might’ve had some male company.”

  I gave her a smirk. As if.

  She shrugged. “You never know.”

  “How was she today?” I asked, ignoring her statement. Turning my attention to my little girl, I kissed her chubby cheek, and cooed, “Did you have fun with Ms. Sherry today, Nat-Nat?”

  She puckered her little two-year-old lips and kissed me on mine before saying, “Yeah,” in her tiny voice.

  “We went to story time at the library and she sat still like a big girl. We had a great day. Thanks for letting me take her to my friend’s house this afternoon, too. Seeing this doll always lifts her spirits. I think being able to spend time with Nat is speeding up her healing process.”

  “You know it’s cool. I knew you were gonna take good care of her. You always do.”

  “I love it. Always wanted kids. You moving next door to me and needing a babysitter was a blessing. Believe me.”

  I gave her a smile, and after she left, fixed me and my little girl some microwave meals. Then we settled down for an evening of Top Chef. Nat-Nat watched the TV with rapt attention until she fell asleep in my arms.

  3

  Bridgette’s persistent ass called me every day up until the day of Big South’s party, and when it finally sunk in with her that I was indeed not going, she stopped talking to me for a week. But that was just how she was, how she’d been when I met her at a group home back in middle school, years before I followed her from Alabama to LA. I was in that home because my mother had a nervous breakdown and had to be institutionalized for some months, but had no family willing to take me in. Bridgette had been in the system since she was nine or ten. Both her parents were cracked out. Hear her tell it, her whole family was strung out, including her grandparents. I was able to return home to my mother after four months; Bridgette stayed until she graduated from high school, but in those months we were there together, we developed a bond that endured despite her dramatics and were thick as thieves all the way through school. I knew how badly she wanted to succeed, how hard she worked, but she was just going to have to be mad at me for now. She’d get over it eventually. She always did. Unlike the acquaintances I’d made because of my association with my ex-husband, Bridgette was a real one. She’d had my back through my messy divorce, and I appreciated her for not abandoning me like them.

  But the depth of our friendship wasn’t enough for me to spend time in the same space as Big South’s revolting, arrogant ass.

  That wasn’t happening.

  As was the usual in my life, any remote thought of my ex-husband conjured him up. As
I was heading back to Bijou Park with my boss’s lunch that afternoon, he called. I fought the familiar urge to ignore him, reminding myself that we shared a child, and accepted the call.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey, Jo. Just calling to check on you and the baby. Y’all good?”

  It irked me to no end that he still wouldn’t speak her name.

  “Yeah, we’re good, Sid.”

  “Good. Good. I made the deposit for this month. Need anything else?”

  I need your sorry behind to step up and be a father and stop thinking money will solve everything. “Nope.”

  “A’ight. I’ll check on you two in a couple of weeks.”

  “Yeah, bye.” I hung up before he could respond, parked my car, and headed back to work, hoping my coworkers would stop gushing over Big South’s party. I was tired of hearing about it.

  I was in the studio trying to come up with my contribution to this Rihanna track. I didn’t like it, but had promised her I’d do a feature for her since she’d done one on my last album. The problem was that the beat wasn’t moving me; plus, I was distracted as hell. Sitting my overgrown ass up there thinking about little mama from Peter Park’s place, the short cutie with the caramel skin and dark brown freckles all over her nose and cheeks. I can’t even say what was drawing me to her. I’d been with beautiful women, gorgeous women, famous women—women other men would die to be with, but none of them intrigued me like she did. She was all natural. Big, kinky, sandy-brown-reddish hair, no makeup. She was short as hell compared to my six-six body, and I couldn’t remember the last time a woman under six feet tall caught my eye. She wasn’t even pretty in a classic way, but still beautiful with those wide eyes and huge lips. Shit, I don’t know. She was just different from any other woman I’d ever seen.

  I meant what I told Park about looking forward to seeing her. Hell, I spent the entire party looking for her, had planned to apologize to her properly there, and was lowkey disappointed when she didn’t show up. And now? I was kind of pissed about it. I mean, who stands me up? Me! But did she really stand me up? It wasn’t like we were supposed to meet up for a date or something. I was confused as fuck. I was thirty-seven years old and had never felt this twisted up about a woman. Not even Esther, and the whole world knew I loved her ass.

  I was going to have to shake this shit off. I had money to make. It was what I did best. So I sat there and listened to Rihanna sing about how some nigga would never get with her and let my frustration over little mama lead me in the booth.

  4

  Standing at the door in my pajamas, I stretched my eyes in surprise, dug my fingers in my hair and rubbed my scalp, then finally said, “Bridgette? What are you doing here?” It’d been two weeks since I’d spoken to her, and her way of taking me off punishment was to randomly show up at my door? Typical Bridgette Turner.

  “Wench, I know you didn’t forget!”

  “Forget what?” I asked, genuinely confused. Then I felt little hands on my leg.

  “Teetee Bijitt!” Nat squealed from below.

  “Hey, Nat-Nat!” Bridgette chirped, then lowering her voice, said, “Jo Lena Walker, I promise before God, as sure as your mama’s name was April, if you stand here and tell me you forgot about the premiere of my movie tonight, the first movie in which I have an actual speaking part, I am going to beat your complete ass in front of my godbaby.”

  “I didn’t forget. You’re early.”

  Yeah, I forgot.

  “I know. We got a lot to do to get you red carpet ready.” Then she turned and yelled, “Come on!” to someone behind her. Seconds later, she and Sage, her favorite makeup artist and a mutual friend of ours, entered my house. Since they both were loud and could get raunchy with their conversations, I knew I needed to get Nat to Ms. Sherry’s place ASAP. I hoped she wasn’t busy and could babysit on short notice. Otherwise, Bridgette was going to kill me, and I honestly wanted to be there for her, too.

  As per usual, Ms. Sherry jumped at the chance to watch Nat, insisting that she spend the night. I hated my house and the neighborhood when Sid and I first moved there, but Ms. Sherry being next door had been a true blessing. I was glad I’d decided to stay after my divorce.

  When I made it back from dropping Nat off, Sage was emptying her makeup case on my kitchen table and Bridgette was nowhere to be found. Before I could ask Sage where she was, Bridgette yelled, “You got any shoes to go with this little royal blue dress?!” She was in my closet.

  “I don’t think so!” I yelled back. “I was gonna wear the black maxi dress anyway.”

  Bridgette sauntered into the living room, which was a part of the huge open floor plan. My living room, kitchen, and dining room all flowed together. She had the royal blue mini draped over her arm while she held a pair of gold stilettos in her hand. I’d forgotten about those shoes.

  “You’re too short to wear maxi dresses. How many times I gotta tell you that? They make you look shorter,” she said.

  “What’s wrong with being short?” I asked.

  “Nothing, except you wanna be seen in the sea of Amazonian models that pop up everywhere in Hollywood, don’t you? A maxi dress will make you disappear. You’ll be looking like a damn hobbit under them.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Who said I was tryna be seen?”

  “Girl, you too cute to be hiding,” Sage chimed in.

  I fell into a chair at the kitchen table and grabbed my Firestick remote. “Whatever, y’all. Ain’t like I’m looking for a man or something.”

  “You should be. Sid ain’t the end all be all, Jo. You need to get out there again,” Bridgette said, pulling her own dress from the garment bag she’d arrived with and laying it over the back of my black leather sofa, the one Sidney just had to have. I really needed to buy new furniture. Everything in my house reminded me of my failed marriage.

  “You don’t date,” I said.

  “Because I’m focused on my career.”

  “Maybe I’m focused on mine.”

  “You don’t even sound convinced of that yourself. That job with Peter Park is a hobby just like when you were training to be a makeup artist under Sage for like three seconds. The only thing you ever wanted to do was be a wife and a mother. It’s all you talked about when we were younger, being a happy homemaker.”

  Yeah, I wasn’t the most ambitious kid. “And we see how that turned out.”

  “Who knew Sid would turn out to be such a sorry ass? But you were a good wife, Jo, and you’re still a good mother. Just gotta find you a better man this time.”

  “Yeah, girl. It’s some good men out there,” Sage offered.

  “Where?” I asked, with lifted brows.

  Sage seemed to think about that for a second, pursed her full lips, and then she shrugged her meaty shoulders. “Hell if I know.”

  I chuckled as I resumed the video I was watching before they arrived. As Sage motioned for me to sit in the chair closest to her, Bridgette asked, “You watching YouTube?”

  I nodded. “Yeah. 4C Angie. She and Ryan are doing that thing where they debate which artists are the best. They’re talking about Frankie Beverly and Marvin Gaye right now. Ryan lost it when Angie picked Frankie Beverly.”

  “Remember that time they did Drake and Tupac? I died when Angie said Drake and Ryan just stared at her for like ten minutes and then the camera cut off,” Sage said.

  I chuckled. “Yeah, that was hilarious.”

  “Awww, he’s holding their baby. He’s so cute!” Sage gushed.

  “Girrrl, that Ryan is fine as fuck! Shit!” Bridgette declared.

  “And crazy about him some Angie. I met them at a beauty expo like a year ago, and he couldn’t keep his hands and eyes off her,” Sage informed us.

  “Must be nice to have a man that crazy about you,” I sighed.

  “Yeah…” the two ladies agreed, sounding just as forlorn as me.

  *****

  The movie was so good! I mean, wow! Beautifully shot and directed with an all-black cast. It wa
s the story of a group of college friends meeting up for their favorite professor’s funeral, and in the process, catching up on each other’s lives and learning that perceptions of others can be skewed and the trajectory of one’s life can take surprising turns. Bridgette played the wife of one of the friends, a guy everyone had always assumed was gay. She only had three short lines, but got lots of time on-camera; her onscreen presence was huge. I was so proud of her! This had been her dream since she was a kid and she was making it happen.

  Following the premiere, there was an after-party at a club called The Launch Pad. I drove us there in my car, and as I followed my leggy friend inside where we would be able to mix and mingle with the producers, her cast mates, and everyone else in attendance, I bobbed my head to Charlie Puth’s funky, bass-driven tune, Attention.

  The place was teeming with beautiful brown people smiling, dancing, chatting, and sipping drinks. I spotted a few minor celebrities as I stood at the bar with Bridgette, letting my eyes scan the place that was aglow with ambient yellow lighting. Whoever the DJ was, was on point with his R&B and hip hop selections, so the atmosphere was buzzing.

  Bridgette handed me a shot of something, and I turned my nose up. “You know I don’t drink real liquor. It’s gotta be disguised by fruit or something for me to stomach it.”

  She flapped her manicured hand at me, her bejeweled nails reflecting the muted lighting. “This is a celebration. You about to get lit and then we hitting the dancefloor Reola, Alabama-style!”

  I rolled my eyes as she tossed her shot back then shook her head, making her curly weave bounce. Bridgette was tall and lanky with gorgeous copper skin that she swore was the bane of her career, because dark-skinned, light-skinned, or Hispanic girls were on-trend. She said being a regular, non-exotic-looking, brown-skinned black woman with a perm was killing her chances for success.