by Alexis Daria
The script began with Carmen discussing her goals for the family business with her sister before leaving for work. This section was in English, and while Ashton’s eyes followed along on the script, he’d be lying if he said he was paying attention. Instead, his mind took him on a downward spiral that started with spilled coffee and ended with tanking his career.
The next scene showed Carmen at work, interacting with her assistant, and then her father. Ashton tuned in enough to catch his cue from Peter, then sat up straight, calling on all his years of experience to speak his lines while mentally beating himself up for blowing his first impression with Jasmine.
They got through the reunion scene, but a later part called for an argument in Spanish.
“You have a lot of nerve coming back here to ask for my help,” Jasmine said from beside him.
Ashton was so attuned to her every movement, he didn’t miss his cue. His character shot back a retort, which he delivered in strong, rapid Spanish. He paused at the end of his lines, waiting for Jasmine’s response. It was supposed to start with, “¿Y quién diablos piensas que eres?” A sort of, “Who the hell do you think you are?” And then she would put him in his place.
Except Jasmine stumbled over her lines, messing up the vowels. She paused, stared intently at the script in front of her, and he imagined her repeating the words in her head. She started again and made it through the entire passage, albeit slowly, and without the fierceness she’d displayed when speaking her lines in English.
They finished the scene, but Jasmine’s difficulty with Spanish puzzled him. Ashton replayed the coffee moment over again in his head, recalling her long pause and the way she’d stared at him after his poor attempt at a joke . . .
Wait, was it possible she didn’t speak Spanish?
Carmen in Charge had a bilingual script, cast, and crew. It was a big part of the promo for the show. How was this going to work if the lead actress wasn’t fluent?
He listened to Jasmine work her way through a scene in Spanish with Miriam Perez. Maybe he wasn’t being fair. Jasmine’s accent was spot on, even if her pronunciation was a little inconsistent.
It was something he particularly worried about for himself. While his English was good, he still had an accent and sometimes came across idioms he didn’t immediately recognize or that didn’t translate easily to Spanish. Would wider American audiences accept a new leading man with a Puerto Rican accent? A few Spanish-speaking actors had achieved success—guys like Javier Bardem, Diego Luna, and Gael García Bernal. Was there still room in that lexicon for Ashton Suarez?
The sudden silence made him blink. Jasmine stared at him expectantly. No, not just Jasmine. Everyone was staring at him. Puñeta. It was his line.
In his rush to flip the page, Ashton knocked over his drinking glass. Lemon water splashed all over his script and the table. He shoved back his chair before it could get on his pants. To his left, Jasmine leaped out of her seat like she’d been stuck with a pin.
Ashton imagined a sinkhole opening beneath him and swallowing him up. That would be preferable to whatever was happening to him today.
“Did it get on you?” he asked under his breath.
“Not this time,” she answered.
It was amazing how much mortification could feel like heartburn.
A pair of PAs rushed in with paper towels to sop up the mess, and Ashton leaned back to get out of their way. “Sorry,” he muttered. “Too much caffeine.”
Jasmine turned a laugh into a cough.
She was laughing at him. Was it a good laugh? Like a haha, we have a shared joke about coffee kind of laugh? Or a bad laugh, like, you clumsy idiot, always spilling drinks?
He didn’t dare look at her to find out, and everyone was waiting for him. His neck felt hot. Another PA handed him a fresh script. This time, he would give it his complete attention. Something he should have been doing anyway. On any other set, on any other day, he would have.
But today . . . today sucked.
Somehow, Ashton got through it. Even though nerves made his skin feel too tight, and he couldn’t stop fidgeting. He was like Yadiel trying to sit through Sunday mass. It was the most awkward table read he’d ever participated in.
Marquita made her closing speech, and this time, Ashton listened.
“That was a great start, team! I’m so excited to be embarking on this journey with all of you. Now, enjoy the rest of the weekend, and I’ll see you at the studio Monday morning, bright and early.”
Before Ashton could turn to Jasmine to apologize for almost spilling another drink on her, she slipped out of her chair and rounded the table to chat with Lily Benitez.
No problem. He’d catch her before he left. He felt terrible about ruining her outfit, and he couldn’t end this day without trying to make things right. This entire production hinged on the two of them selling the audience a romance between their characters. If she thought he was a fool, this would never work.
And he really needed it to work.
As Ashton was saying goodbye to the others, his ears picked up Jasmine’s voice somewhere behind him.
“Oh, the outfit?” She gave an easy laugh. “Spilled a giant coffee on myself right before we started. Had to make do with what was available, you know?”
The person she was talking to chuckled and said, “The show must go on?”
“Exactly.”
Ashton turned his head to catch a glimpse of her out of the corner of his eye. She was chatting with one of the ScreenFlix VPs, but standing with them was someone else—someone wearing a visitor’s badge and recording their conversation with a phone.
A reporter.
Ashton did a sharp about-face and made a prompt exit. Peter called his name, and Ashton waved, but kept going. Farther down the hallway he encountered Skye, and asked them to show him back to the elevators.
Once the doors shut behind him and he was on his way down, Ashton was finally able to take a deep breath.
He hated talking to the press. While the Miami-based entertainment reporters were used to his standoffishness and had reached the point of joking about it good-naturedly, he was in New York now. He had no idea what to expect from the media here. And the last thing he needed was for a reporter to record him apologizing to Jasmine. It would spark curiosity, and he couldn’t afford rumors or invasive questions. His son’s safety was too important.
Later. He’d talk to Jasmine later.
THE AWKWARD TABLE read set the tone for Jasmine’s first week on Carmen.
Not that she had trouble adjusting. If anything, the production pace was leisurely compared to what she was used to from working on soaps, where they filmed over one hundred pages per day and were expected to nail the shot on the first take. Having more than a week to shoot an episode felt positively decadent.
She assumed it must be the same for Ashton, coming from telenovelas, but she couldn’t know for sure because the man was never around to ask.
After the table read, he’d taken one look at her and left without even saying goodbye. And sure, he showed up when it was time to rehearse, and he was of course there while they filmed, but as soon as the scene wrapped, Ashton disappeared again. Hell, he would barely even look at her unless the script called for it.
Jasmine tried not to take it personally, but taking things personally was one of her greatest skills. Fortunately, the first episodes called for some awkwardness between them.
Carmen Serrano, Jasmine’s character, worked at a public relations firm owned by her family in New York City. She was a tough, take-no-shit kind of woman. A real Leading Lady type. Jasmine could stand to take a few lessons from her.
The show started with Carmen getting the rug pulled out from under her—not only was the family business in trouble, but their latest client, the one who could get them back on top? None other than her ex-husband, Victor Vega, an international pop star.
Jasmine could sympathize with Carmen. She had a problem with exes too.
Mo
st of the scenes Jasmine had already filmed involved the actors who played Carmen’s family members. They were all lovely people, and Peter Calabasas, who played her on-screen dad, Ernesto Serrano, reminded Jasmine of her grandfather, Willie Rodriguez. She felt so at ease with him and Miriam Perez, who played Carmen’s mom Dahlia, she took them up on their offer to run through the Spanish dialogue together, and Jasmine aced the scenes when they filmed them.
So far, she hadn’t had too much interaction with Ashton on set, but that would be changing soon. Today, they were filming Carmen and Victor’s reunion scene. After spending the morning drinking way too much coffee in hair and makeup, Jasmine was ready to get it over with.
Ashton showed up on set looking sleek and sexy. For Victor, they’d given him a fresh shave and slicked his dark curls away from his face. Jasmine wished they’d left something to distract from his extreme handsomeness . . . like a mask, or a paper bag.
Wardrobe wasn’t helping either. They’d outfitted Ashton in tight black chinos and a gray V-neck T-shirt with a black leather jacket to complete the musician look. His cologne was a delicious combo of sweet and spicy, somehow sexy and comforting at the same time.
Jasmine turned away and gulped water from a stainless steel bottle. She had to pull herself together.
A member of the makeup team approached to blot away any shininess from her face. With her eyes closed and the scent of powder soothing her nerves, Jasmine gave herself a mental pep talk.
Come on, jefa, you can do this. Let Carmen take over and nail your lines. It’s just acting. You’ve done this a million times.
Jasmine took three deep, slow breaths. She tapped into the part of her that connected with the character, the part of her who owned her power and knew her worth. It was a small part, but it was there, deep inside. She was a Leading Lady, damn it. A Leading Lady who had her shit together.
When she opened her eyes, she thanked the makeup artist then sashayed over to Lily Benitez, who played her on-screen sister, Helen. Lily just happened to be standing within earshot of Ashton, so Jasmine called on Carmen’s bravado and draped it around her like her great-grandmother’s wedding mantilla.
“Ready to get your ass beat at dominoes?” Jasmine said, referring to the game they had going in Miriam’s dressing room.
Lily, who was fiercely competitive, snorted in disdain. “You wish!”
As they went back and forth, Jasmine watched Ashton from the corner of her eye. He was listening—he had to be, there was no way he couldn’t hear them—but he never turned their way.
It was on the tip of Jasmine’s tongue to call out his name. She didn’t know what she’d say, exactly. Do you play dominoes? No, that was a stupid question. He probably did. Why do you smell so good? Um, no. That was totally inappropriate, even though it was true. Hey, pay attention to me! That one was pure middle-child id, and Jasmine didn’t want to think too deeply about where the impulse came from.
Instead, she said nothing to him at all. Just kept chatting with Lily. A minute later, the first assistant director, Ofelia Gomez, called them all to their places, and there was nothing else to do but begin.
Chapter 5
CARMEN IN CHARGE
EPISODE 1
Scene: Carmen and Victor reunite for the first time.
INT: Carmen’s office—DAY
“Action!”
Carmen bustled into her office—a chic workspace decorated in white with gold accents—and picked up a tablet from her desk. Her father followed her in, albeit more slowly.
“So who’s this big new client we’ve signed?” She tapped the tablet screen. “I haven’t gotten any paperwork yet.”
Her father ducked his head, like he was afraid to meet her gaze. “He’s a singer. And this one might be a little . . . difficult.”
Carmen looked up from her desk and flashed him a fierce grin. “Papi, there’s nobody in this business better than I am. Come on, what’s the catch?”
With a resigned grimace, Ernesto leaned out the glass door of the office and called, “Déjalo pasar.”
The man who strolled into the office made Carmen’s confident smile drop. A myriad of emotions raced through her, all visible on her face. Shock, hurt, and then—anger.
But he . . . he was all smooth and secure, as if he had every right to be here. His lips curved in a sexy smile and he gave a little nod. “Hola, Carmen.”
His voice was silken and deep, wrapping around her, urging her to loosen up. Instead, Carmen steeled her spine. With tight, controlled movements, she set the tablet down, lest she throw it at him, and pressed her hands to the cool surface, letting it ground her. Her lips compressed into a thin line as she glared from the newcomer to her father.
“Really?” she said in a harsh tone, breaking the silence but not the tension. “My ex-husband is our new client?”
On a network show, this would have been a prime commercial break, but since this was being filmed for a streaming service, the scene continued.
Ernesto rushed over to Carmen, his tone conciliatory. “Mija, óyeme—”
“No, I will not listen.” Carmen slashed her hand through the air. “The answer is no. I won’t work with him.”
Her father didn’t give up. “Like you said, you’re the best in the business at rehabbing celebrity images. If you can turn Victor’s career around, we’ll have clients knocking down our door. Come on, mija. Do it for the family.”
Carmen pinned Victor with a glare. “What. Did. You. Do?”
Victor had the grace to look slightly abashed. His throat worked as he swallowed, and he lifted a hand to scratch the back of his neck. “Ah . . . I might have . . . canceled a world tour.”
Carmen nodded and slowly let out a breath. “I probably would have known that if I hadn’t so thoroughly scrubbed you out of my life.”
Victor pressed a hand to his chest and winced. “Ouch. Direct hit.”
“Basta,” Ernesto said, getting between them. “You’re both grown adults. Can’t you work together?”
Carmen sucked on her lower lip, as if she were thinking about it, then she shook her head. “No, Papi. I can’t. I won’t work with him. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have more important things to do than to waste my time talking with this piece of basura.” She raised a finger and pointed at the door. “Victor, out.”
Victor and Ernesto exchanged glances, but Victor raised his hands in surrender and left the office.
With a heavy sigh, Carmen dropped into her desk chair. When she looked up at her father, betrayal was etched all over her features. “Papi, how could you do that to me?”
“Lo siento, querida. Pero . . .” Her father sat in the chair on the other side of Carmen’s desk, shoulders slumped. “Pero Victor es nuestra única esperanza.”
Carmen’s brows creased, and her tone was pleading. “No entiendo. Why is Victor our only hope?”
“Porque . . .” There was a hitch in his voice. “Porque, mija, we are on the verge of losing the business.”
Carmen let the shock of his words show on her face. “But . . . I thought we were doing well. You never said . . .”
“I know. Ever since your tío Fredo died, we’ve been struggling. He was the strong one, the smart one. I was good with people, but Fredo was good with numbers.”
“That was three years ago . . .” Carmen shook her head, still not comprehending. “Why didn’t you tell me? I could have helped.”
“You and Victor were having trouble, and I didn’t want to worry you, or give you more work. Anyway, now . . . it looks like signing Victor is all we can do to save the business.”
Carmen clasped her hands together on the desk and shut her eyes for a moment. When she opened them, she met her father’s gaze, and it was as if she had suited herself in armor. Eyes cold, shoulders squared, voice sharp.
“I will work with Victor under two conditions,” she said, and held up a finger before her father could rejoice. “One, I take over the financials for the business.”
“Pero you’ll be so busy—”
“Not too busy to get the firm back on top. Serranos do it better, remember?” A ghost of a smile played on her lips, but she squashed it and held up a second finger. “Two, no one gets any ideas about me and Victor, got it?”
Her father’s expression was all innocence. “¿Qué quieres decir? Ideas?”
“You know exactly what I mean,” Carmen said, getting to her feet. “Just because I’ll be working with him does not mean that Victor and I will be getting back together. So get that out of your head. Same goes for Mom.”
Her father held up his hands. “Okay, bueno. I believe you.”
“Now call him back in. I know he’s still out there. He only leaves when it’s convenient for him.” Carmen came around from her desk and waited with her hands on her hips.
Victor returned, shit-eating grin firmly in place.
“I knew you couldn’t resist me.”
“You’d be surprised what I can resist,” Carmen replied through gritted teeth. “Right now, I’m resisting throwing a paperweight at your head.”
“I’m not worried.” He smirked and gestured at her minimalist desk space.
Carmen raised her chin and lobbed the ball back into his court. “You want to tell me why you canceled a world tour?”
His expression shuttered, dark eyebrows creasing as his gaze slanted away from hers. “No.”
“Of course not.” Carmen turned to her father. “So what’s the plan? What’s our goal here?”
Victor answered instead. “There’s another tour coming up, with a few other Latinx singers. I want in on it.”
Carmen eyed him up and down. “We have our work cut out for us if you want someone to give you a spot on a tour so soon after you canceled another one.”
