Let Me Show You (McClain Brothers Book 3)

by Alexandria House

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know? Out of practice, I guess.”

  He leaned back in his chair and shook his head. “I told your ass about that point-and-click fucking you been doing.”

  “And I told your ass I don’t do online dating or whatever.”

  “Then how the hell you find that many Croatian chicks that like black dudes?”

  “Can we get back to the subject at hand? What I’m saying is, since I don’t really have to try with the women I usually date, I feel kind of awkward around her.”

  “Then stop feeling awkward, nigga. Bridgette is cool people. I mean, shit...black women don’t attack on sight. They ain’t all angry bitches like they’re stereotyped to be.”

  “I know that.”

  “Then just talk to her. You the smoothest nigga I know. Hell, you almost as smooth as me, can always talk your way into or out of anything, by far the smartest McClain brother. Work your magic on her. Ain’t no need in you being nervous.”

  “You’re right, man. Thanks.”

  “Oh, and look, if you serious about getting with her, you gonna have to stop bringing them Slovakian motherfuckers with you everywhere you go. It’s hard to shoot your shot when it looks like you already got a woman. Ain’t no woman—black, white, or green—going for that shit. At least any woman worth having would have a problem with that.”

  I nodded. “I know. I just…”

  “Don’t like being alone. I know. But you gotta make sacrifices for what you want. If you really want her, and you show her that, then you won’t have to be alone for long.”

  “You really think so? You think I have a real chance with her?” I asked.

  “Nigga, you’re a McClain man. Hell yeah, you got a chance! Now, let’s get back to work. Who we got playing Jazz’s mama?”

  I shrugged again, staring down at the stack of papers before me on the edge of Everett’s desk. “I was thinking Esther would work for that role.”

  He shot straight to his feet. “Hell. Fucking. Naw! You must be done lost your got-damn mind!”

  I fell back in my chair, finally breaking character and laughing so hard that tears filled my eyes. “I’m just messing with you, big brother. Calm your big ass down!”

  Everett fell back into his chair, and mumbled, “Man, don’t be playing with me like that.”

  I couldn’t stop laughing as we continued our meeting.

  3

  “Hewwo!” Jo’s garbled voice boomed from my car’s speakers.

  “What is your always-eating-ass chewing on now that’s got you sounding like Nat-Nat?”

  “Some ribs.” Her voice was much clearer that time, so I guessed she’d swallowed.

  “Ribs at nine in the damn morning?”

  “They were leftovers from last night. What are you doing?”

  “Leaving the gym. Girl, I kicked my own ass today. Did like a hundred squats after doing five miles on the treadmill.”

  “Those squats are responsible for that donk you got. You know that, right?”

  “No, the squats keep the thing firm. If I can’t get rid of it, I can at least keep it from jiggling all over the place.”

  “Why don’t you work out over here anymore? You know Everett doesn’t care if you use his gym.”

  As I pulled off the lot and into traffic, I said, “Because, one: I haven’t gotten over that time I was on the treadmill and both him and Leland came in shirtless to lift weights. I love you, Jo, but that motherfucker you married is fine, so fine I actually stumbled and almost broke my ass on that treadmill. Then there’s Leland, who at the time was single but didn’t pay my fine ass a second glance, and well, he was so fine, I had visions of making him take this coochie. And if by chance no fine McClains are present, I ain’t about to be in there working out while you sit on a weight bench and watch me while stuffing your face with whatever you can find. I’m good with my Be Fit membership.”

  Her, “You’re exaggerating, I don’t eat that much,” sounded like…shit, I don’t know.

  “Jo! Can you put the damn ribs down until after we have this conversation?”

  Nothing from her, and then whimpering. This damn pregnancy had my BFF’s emotions all over the place. She wasn’t nearly this sensitive when she was carrying Nat.

  “I’m sorry,” she whined. “I’m just so damn hungry. And horny. All the time! All I do is eat and screw.”

  “I bet South is loving that.”

  “He iiiiiis,” she sobbed.

  “Okay, calm down. I didn’t mean to yell. Look, I just wanted to call and thank you for getting your hubby to cast me in his movie. When my agent called and said McClain Films wanted me for their first project, I was like, ‘Go best fran, that’s my best fran!’ And it’s a huge role, too! Good looking out! We start table reads this afternoon. I am so ready!!”

  She sniffled, and said, “You’re thanking the wrong person. I didn’t have nothing to do with that.”

  I frowned slightly. “Oh? Well, I already thanked South, so…”

  “Wrong again. Nolan personally chose you for that role.”

  “He-he did?”

  “Mm-hmm. I told you he likes you.”

  As I stared at the crawling traffic before me, I decided maybe she was right, but still said, “I guess, but it doesn’t matter if he does.”

  “Why not?”

  “You know why not.”

  “Just because things didn’t work out with Tommy doesn’t mean you and Nolan can’t work out. You and Tommy weren’t compatible. You said yourself y’all had nothing to talk about and only really got along when you were having sex. You and Nolan have the film industry in common if nothing else.”

  “I’m back to focusing on my career, Jo. I don’t have time for Nolan McClain or any other man right now. Got too much going on.” Getting strange phone calls and shit…

  “But—”

  “Jo, drop it.”

  She sighed loudly into the phone. “I’m happy in love with a good man despite Tea Steepers posting one of my fresh maternity shoot pics with the caption, ‘Bag Secured.’ I just want you to be happy, too. You and Sage.”

  “Sage has Gavin. She’s good.”

  “I know, but I want you to have your Gavin, or actually, your Nolan. He’s really sweet and smart, you know? Handsome, and his bank account ain’t hurting, either. He’s like an investment guru according to Everett.”

  You forgot fine. “And he has a thing for Russian women.”

  “No, he has a thing for you.”

  “Mm-hmm. I’ll talk to you later, Jo.”

  “Bye, Bridge. And remember, like you once told me, you deserve to live.”

  “I’m living, Jo.”

  “No, you work all the time.”

  “You’re demanding.”

  “Once again, then you’re fired.”

  “Ho’, please.”

  “I’m just saying, when Nolan asks you out—”

  “If, not when.”

  “No, when he asks you out, please give him a chance.”

  “If that ever happens, I will, because shit, he’s a McClain. He’s guaranteed to have a big dick.”

  “How do you know that? Maybe Ev is the only McClain with a big dick.”

  “Naw, Nolan walks like he’s carrying a heavy load down there. So do Leland and Neil. I peeped that a while back.”

  “Good Lord. Bye, fool.”

  “Bye.”

  “Man, you a fool,” I said through a chuckle as my boy, Lazarus, finished the story of his latest escapade. I had known him since college, and even back then, he was making claims like this. Let his ugly ass tell it, he was always getting it in. Back in the day, I was pretty sure he was lying, but now that he was a big name in Hollywood? He might’ve been telling the truth. I’d definitely seen him out and about with some winners.

  “Nah, man! I’m for real. That thang was so good, ole girl had me hitting them 1990s Maxwell high notes. Shit, had my ass squealing like Prince in that motherfucker. I was
like, ‘ow-oh!’ Her pussy was on fire!”

  “You stupid, Laz! A damn clown!”

  “I’m serious! You have no idea!”

  I shook my head. “Same old Lazarus. Hey, I’m glad to have you as a part of this project, man. I know you’re a big-time director now, so…”

  “Nole, man, you called and I’m here. And shit, y’all paying me good.”

  “Not as good as Netflix did for that Kevin Hart flick you directed for them.”

  “Yeah, you’re right, and your budget is shitty, too.”

  “Man, fuck you.”

  Lazarus threw his big-ass head back and laughed. “But seriously, you’re my boy, Nole. We been friends for too many years for me not to be a part of your first film.”

  “‘Preciate it, man.”

  “And, your brother is backing it, too? It’s a bona fide hit with his name attached to it.”

  “Let’s hope so.”

  He hopped up from his seat and extended his fist across my desk to me. As I dapped him up, he said, “Let me get to work. Wanna sit in on this table read I’m about to do with Honey Combs and Bridgette Turner?”

  “I might pop in there in a minute.”

  Lazarus nodded and left my little office within the small McClain Films building. It was a warehouse Everett and I paid to have converted into a network of tiny offices for our abbreviated staff, a couple of spaces for filming, and a sound studio. Most of Floetic Lustice—the story of a popular poet and a talented female DJ falling in love—would be shot at Second Avenue, the club I managed. A few scenes would be filmed in my Malibu home, and we were thinking about taking the crew out of state for a few scenes that were to take place in Montana. That was a big if, because I was determined to stay under budget. I would cut corners any way I could, hence the filming at my house.

  Filmmaking had always been a dream and a passion of mine, so much so that I’d gotten my bachelor’s in filmmaking, added the MBA on because I figured it wouldn’t hurt, and well, school had always been as easy for me as anything creative and abstract had always been for Neil. It was almost like we were two halves of one brain. I was the analytical one while Neil dealt more in the arts. Growing up, we complemented each other. But now? Neil just…well, I tried not to think about him too much. Him, his life, and the way he lived it could depress the shit out of me if I let it. He was my twin, and we’d been close growing up and into adulthood, but he lost his way, and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it other than worry about him, and I was over that. I was having enough trouble keeping my own stuff straight; I didn’t need to add stressing over him to my list of concerns. We barely talked anymore, and since he’d been staying with Everett, he’d been avoiding me, but it was what it was.

  “Knock, knock.”

  My head snapped up, and my eyes instantly met hers. She was smiling as she said, “I hope I’m not bothering you. I just wanted to thank you for allowing me to be a part of this project. I’m so excited to be working with the Lazarus Holmes!”

  “Oh, no problem. I should be thanking you for agreeing to take the role. You are very talented.”

  Her pretty eyes widened. “Thank you. I appreciate that.”

  My eyes glided over her slim body in a short skirt, a sheer blouse, and heels that looked like they put her at least three inches taller than me. Shit. “Yeah. You’re a scene-stealer. You fill the screen.”

  Her smile expanded. “I didn’t realize you’d seen any of my work.”

  “I have, and uh…I’m a fan, Ms. Turner. A huge fan.” Aw, shit! That was halfway smooth. I’m back!

  Bridgette rested a hand on her chest. “Call me Brigette, and a fan? Well, Mr. McClain—”

  My phone chimed, and I instinctively looked down at it to read the message previewed on the screen. “Jesse,” I murmured.

  “What?” Her voice sounded strained, and when I looked up from my phone, I saw that her smile had faded away, replaced by a ghosted look.

  I glanced down at my phone again, trying to figure out what caused the shift in her energy. “Uh, I just got a text from the club’s assistant manager. Jesse’s a good employee, usually handles everything on his own when I’m not around, so for him to be texting me, I know something’s up. Probably something that’ll require a lot of work for me, and the club’s not even open right now.” I ended my statement with a chuckle, hoping that would erase the creases in her forehead.

  Instead, she stared at me, or actually, she stared through me for a full minute before shaking her head, and saying, “Uh, I gotta go,” and turning on her heels, leaving my office and leaving me confused as hell. Confused, and turned on by the view of her perfect ass as she left.

  4

  “Aw, thank you, Kim! I love it!” Jo gushed, as she peered at the gorgeous bassinette she’d just unwrapped. Leland and his wife had to have spent a lot of money for that thing. It looked like something that belonged in a palace!

  This backyard baby shower was lit, full of celebrities or women married to celebrities, while their men congregated in the house. So far, Jo had received three baby strollers, the bassinette, a cradle, four car seats and tons of designer clothes—for a little girl since, as the shower organizer, it was my duty to reveal the sex to the attendees. Jo had given me the sealed results of the sex-determination ultrasound weeks earlier, and I had to damn near muzzle Sage to keep her from spilling the beans. The gifts were how the sex was revealed to Jo and South. South’s big ass damn near collapsed when he saw all those pink clothes. I think he was both happy and petrified to be adding more estrogen to his household. Anyway, Jo was going to have a lot to donate to charity, which was her plan for the surplus.

  My eyes perused the attendees and settled on South’s sister, Kat. She was so pretty. It was a shame how her soon-to-be ex-husband did her, but she seemed happy and content holding little Leland in her lap with his juicy self. I swear, she always had that baby!

  Sniffling coming from my right made me turn to see what the hell was going on with Sage. Yes, this was a beautiful occasion and we were both happy for Jo, but she’d literally been bawling since she arrived. Was her ass pregnant, too? Hell, I hoped not, because although her man was cute and seemed to really be into her, he was not the most reliable member of the male species. Dude had had four different jobs in the six months he and Sage had been together.

  I handed Jo another gift. “From me and Sage,” I informed her.

  “Oh, okay!” She ripped into it, lifted the box holding the video baby monitor, and then grinned at me. “It’s the one that hooks up to my cell phone! Thanks, ladies! I love it!”

  I smiled as she pulled me into a hug. It was hard as hell to shop for her given her hubby’s net worth, so I was glad she’d mentioned the monitor during one of our conversations. When she stood and walked over to Sage to give her a hug, the waterworks returned. Jo had just reclaimed her seat and I was about to pull Sage into the house to see what in the world was going on with her when my phone began to buzz in the pocket of my maxi skirt. After I checked it, I handed Jo a gift from some record executive and excused myself, hurrying into the house, checking to be sure no one was in the kitchen.

  Instead of hello, I answered it with, “You gave that woman my number?!”

  “Uh-um, yes,” Karen stammered.

  “When we made this arrangement, I told you not to give my number to anyone, especially her!” I hissed through clenched teeth. “I can’t change it, because too many people in the industry have it now!”

  “I know I wasn’t supposed to give your number to anyone, but I thought you wouldn’t mind in this case.”

  “In this case? What are you talking about? What on this earth could be so drastic that you’d give her my number?!”

  “Bridgette, she’s your mother. We’ve talked about this. At some point, you have to communicate with her again. You can’t expect me to keep tabs on her for you forever.”

  “First of all, that motherfucker is a lot of things, but she is not my mother. She�
��s not a mother to anyone! Second, if you were tired of our arrangement, the thing to do would’ve been for you to call me and tell me and I would’ve been good with it, not ambush me by giving that woman my got-damn number!”

  “Okay, I need you to calm down.”

  “I am fucking calm!”

  She sighed loudly into the phone. “Bridgette, look…I thought she should’ve been the one to tell you about her mother, your grandmother. Not me.”

  “Why? What is it? Is she dead or something?”

  “Yes, Bridgette. She died of a heart attack a couple of weeks ago.”

  I stood there, letting my eyes survey my best friend’s gorgeous kitchen; then I released a wry chuckle, and said, “Good.”

  “Bridgette—”

  “And thank you for informing me. Thank you for…everything, but you’re right. It’s time for us to end this arrangement. You don’t have to keep tabs on my folks anymore. It’s been years. I should’ve let you off the hook a long time ago.”

  “You don’t have to do this. I don’t mind—”

  “No, it’s okay. Really, thank you.”

  “Okay, um…are you going to call your—are you going to call her back?”

  “No,” I said softly, then ended the call and stood there in the middle of the kitchen staring at my phone in my hand. Karen was a great person with a good heart. I’d met her my senior year of high school, which was her first year with child services. She was a young, pretty, optimistic social worker, and I quickly became her pet project. By the end of that year, we’d become more like sisters than anything. Much like my relationship with Jo, I knew I could tell her anything and she seemed to genuinely care about me, even gifted me with the money I needed to move to LA after graduation, no small feat for a woman with her salary. But then again, Karen had come from a life of privilege, was one of those Jack and Jill black girls who took the job with the county as her way of giving back.

  It was Karen who drove me to the bus station, and right before I climbed those steps and began my journey away from Reola, Alabama, I asked if she would check on my family and keep me up-to-date with what was happening with them, especially my mother who was in jail at the time. I only knew that because it was common gossip. Since my family was so fucked up, they weren’t allowed to contact me. Sure, I hated her, but I still cared for some reason. Karen had quickly and eagerly agreed, glad we’d remain in contact with one another. That was twelve years ago, and as dear as Karen had always been to me, I knew it was past time to release her from that responsibility. The woman had a husband and kids now. She didn’t need to be tangled up in my family anymore.