by Alexis Daria
She’d told someone.
Was it the press? Their coworkers?
Jasmine sucked in a breath. “It’s my cousins.”
Ay, Dios. Even worse.
Chapter 19
Jasmine opened the door to find Michelle and Ava standing in the hallway. Michelle held up a tote bag that clanked. “We come bearing wine.”
“And pizza!” Ava bustled past Jasmine into the kitchen, carrying a large cardboard box that brought heavenly smells into the suite.
Michelle glanced over at Ashton like she was just noticing him. “Oh, do you have company?”
She knew damn well Ashton was there, since Jasmine had texted them on the way home admitting she’d invited him over. They’d reminded her about her Leading Lady Plan and then gone silent. Jasmine should’ve guessed they were up to something, but she’d been preoccupied with ordering food and freshening up before Ashton arrived.
“What are you doing here?” Jasmine whispered while Ava introduced herself to Ashton.
Michelle gave her a pointed look. “Saving you from yourself.” Then she strolled over to Ashton and said, “Well, well, if it isn’t el león dorado.”
Jasmine completed the introductions, everyone kissed hello on the cheek, and soon they were all seated at the round dining table, digging into the pizza.
“Ooh, toppings!” Michelle grabbed olives and roasted red peppers from the antipasto plate and piled them onto her pizza slice. “So what were you two up to?”
Ashton passed around napkins. “Rehearsing lines.”
This was a slight exaggeration, considering they had yet to open their scripts, but it was better than admitting they’d been flirting over olives and telenovelas.
“Excellent,” Michelle said. “We’ll help you. Jasmine’s the pro, but Ava and I also took drama classes in school.”
“What do you do now?” Ashton asked politely.
“Freelance graphic designer.”
Michelle did so much more than that, but Jasmine didn’t contradict. Starting the freelance business had been Michelle’s way of recovering from her high-level—and extremely stressful—corporate job.
“And you?” Ashton asked, turning to Ava.
“Middle school teacher.” Ava yanked the cork out of the wine bottle. “But I’m on summer break now.”
“And how about you?” Michelle asked Ashton, as if she didn’t know. Jasmine rolled her eyes as Ava filled her wineglass.
Ashton replied with a rueful grin. “Well, I’ve been a gold miner, sheriff, CEO, duke, and now I’m a singer.”
Michelle nodded. “A man of many talents. Wine?”
Jasmine hid her smile in her glass. Michelle was like that. She could charm anyone with her particular blend of dark wit and smooth delivery. Jasmine knew what she was doing, though. Michelle was taking Ashton’s measure, gauging if he could hang.
And so far, Ashton—the same guy who hid from everyone else on the cast—was holding his own. He joked and bantered back and forth with Michelle, talked movies with Ava, and chowed down on pizza.
“Who’s in this scene?” Michelle asked, picking up Jasmine’s script.
“Carmen’s family,” Ashton replied.
Ava gestured at Jasmine. “You obviously have to play Carmen. I’ll read her mother’s lines.”
“I’ll be the dad,” Michelle said, then sent Ashton a sunny smile. “That leaves you as Carmen’s sister, Helen.”
Jasmine expected him to protest, or insist on reading Ernesto’s lines. Instead, Ashton leaned back in his chair, like he was lounging. He gave a little shoulder shake and a head toss, to mime throwing back a long mane of hair.
Jasmine let out a giggle. The posturing was a perfect imitation of the way Lily played Helen. And when Ashton spoke, it was with Helen’s attitude and Lily’s intonation.
“I’m ready,” he said with another head toss, and Jasmine laughed because Lily really did throw her hair around a lot.
“You are a good actor,” she teased.
He chuckled and sent her a wink. “Just don’t tell Lily. She’ll think I’m after her job.”
They drank wine and read parts of the script out loud, getting sillier as the night wore on. Finally, Ashton begged off—they had an early call time, and he always hit the gym first thing in the morning.
As he gathered the plates and loaded them in the dishwasher—something that had hearts forming in Ava’s eyes—Michelle elbowed Jasmine in the ribs.
“Ow! What?” Jasmine scowled and rubbed her side.
“Ask him,” Michelle hissed.
“I don’t want to ask him,” Jasmine shot back in a whisper.
“Abuela would love it if he came to her party,” Ava added in a low voice. “And it would totally put you over Jillian in the Ranking.”
Jasmine narrowed her eyes. “Low blow, Ava.”
The Ranking was a list they’d come up with in middle school, putting all the cousins in order from their grandmother’s most favorite to least favorite. It had been updated many times over the years as all the cousins grew up and became either more or less favorable in their abuela’s eyes. They hypothesized that Ava was always near the top—she spoke the most Spanish, helped Esperanza clean the house before parties, and went over a few evenings a week to help cook and watch telenovelas with her. Michelle, being “the mouthy one,” as she called herself, figured she was near the bottom. Jasmine was convinced that her older sister, Jillian, with her beautiful children and “regular job” on Wall Street, must be high up in the Ranking too. Higher than Jasmine was, anyway.
Bringing Ashton to the party would almost certainly skyrocket Jasmine to the top.
And it would make Esperanza really, really happy.
“Fine, I’ll ask him,” she grumbled. “Don’t interfere.”
Michelle gave her an innocent grin. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
Jasmine caught up to Ashton as he was leaving the tiny kitchen.
“Hey, um, I have a question for you,” she said, then groaned inwardly. Real smooth.
His expressive eyebrows rose, inviting her to speak.
“My grandmother’s eightieth birthday party is coming up right after we wrap the season.”
The corners of his mouth turned up. “The grandmother who adores me?”
Now Jasmine groaned out loud. “Yes, that one. Anyway, we’re having a huge party for her, and if you wanted to—I mean, it would just really make her day if—”
“Jasmine.” He said her name in a low voice that set off all kinds of pleasant vibrations in her body.
“Mm-hmm?” What else could she say when consumed with pure lust?
“Are you inviting me to your abuela’s birthday party?”
“Um . . . yeah. I am. Which sounds kind of dull, but I promise, it’ll be a lot of fun. The Rodriguez fam knows how to throw a party.”
He stared at her for what felt like a long time, his expression inscrutable. Just when she was sure he was about to say no, he spoke. “I don’t have my return flight booked yet, and it will depend on the needs of my own grandparents, but if I’m in New York, I’ll attend.”
She blinked. “Really?”
His lips curved in a small smile. “Yes, really.”
“Great. Thank you.”
Their eyes held, and Jasmine’s body grew warm all over. Her gaze dropped to his mouth, and when he leaned in to drop a farewell kiss to her cheek, she inhaled sharply and fought a full body shiver. She had to find out what cologne he wore.
“Goodnight, Jasmine.”
The low rumble thudded through her. “Good night,” she echoed, voice hoarse with desire.
Then he raised his voice and called out, “Nice meeting you both.” Ava and Michelle yelled their goodbyes in harmony, something the three of them had done since they were kids, and then Ashton slipped out the door, leaving Jasmine trying to catch her breath.
Whew.
That was . . .
Whew. Later on, she was going to have to think about why s
he found his hellos and goodbyes so arousing.
Crisis averted, Michelle and Ava left shortly after Ashton did. Michelle’s parting words were, “You’re welcome,” paired with a meaningful glance. Ava had mouthed, “We’ll discuss later.” And then they were gone, too, leaving Jasmine alone with one single thought.
Ashton had been flirting with her.
Why else would he ask about her reaction to him? And he’d called her pretty, albeit in an offhand, term of endearment kind of way.
But then he’d called her a liar when she claimed not to have an emotional reaction to him. And the way he’d said “good night” just now was probably illegal in twelve states.
He was right. She was lying. The truth was, she had all sorts of emotional reactions to him. But she wouldn’t—couldn’t—let him know the effect he had on her.
Her traitorous little heart converted pants feelings into emotions far too readily. It was rather efficient that way.
But now wasn’t the time or place. Her feelings for him had to stay firmly within lust territory. The Leading Lady Plan was in action, and this opportunity was too big to screw up.
And besides. No rebounds. She’d promised herself and her cousins.
If she went back on it now, Ava and Michelle would never let her live it down.
Crushes were fleeting. Family teasing was forever.
Chapter 20
CARMEN IN CHARGE
EPISODE 6
Scene: Victor attends a charity event for an animal shelter.
INT: Elementary school gymnasium—DAY
“You did well with the kids,” Carmen said.
“You don’t have to sound so surprised,” Victor replied, feeling a little wounded. “I’m not a monster.”
“It’s not that.” She straightened a stack of pamphlets for the animal shelter. “I just . . . didn’t think you liked kids.”
“I do.” He got the sense she wasn’t talking about the kids at the children’s hospital they’d visited earlier in the episode. He could pretend not to know what she meant, or he could cut to the chase. They’d done enough pretending while they were married. “You’re wondering why we didn’t have kids.”
She crossed her arms, hugging herself, and turned away from him so he couldn’t see her face. “We never even talked about it.”
“I . . .” It was time for honesty. “I didn’t think you wanted them.”
She spun back to him then, and there was a wealth of emotion in her dark eyes. “Why would you think that?”
He shrugged as old hurts rose from where he’d buried them long ago. “You made it clear that your career came first. Serrano PR was your family legacy.”
“But you didn’t ask.”
He sighed. “No. I didn’t. But neither did you.” He said it gently, without censure. They’d both made mistakes.
“This feels years too late, but . . . did you want children, Victor?”
He looked over at the animals penned in their play areas. “Sí, Carmencita. I wanted children with you. Eventually. But we didn’t get there.”
When she didn’t yell at him for using the diminutive of her name, he took it as a sign of progress.
“We didn’t get to a lot of places,” she said softly, then checked her watch. “They’re about to open the doors. Are you ready?”
Victor steeled himself, ignoring the barks and meows coming from behind him. “As I’ll ever be.”
The doors opened and a crowd rushed into the gymnasium, shoes squeaking on the waxed floors and murmurs echoing around the space.
From his spot in front of the photo backdrop emblazoned with the animal shelter’s logo, Victor smiled and signed autographs and posed for pictures as Carmen handed him one puppy or kitten after another.
His fingers were nipped by needle-pointed puppy teeth, his jacket was scratched by razor-sharp kitten claws, and he was nearly peed on—twice. But he suffered through it, charming the people who were there to help him improve his public image.
Even as his allergies started to kick in.
He tried not to sniffle too loudly as Carmen gave him three kittens to hold up near his face, but he was fighting a losing battle, despite the meds he’d downed that morning.
And then they brought out Luther.
Luther was a five-foot-long female ball python whose name was actually Lucy.
The script didn’t say that Victor was afraid of snakes. And if you asked him, he wouldn’t have said he was.
But he wasn’t overly fond of them either. And he had never in his life wanted to hold one.
“Here comes Luther,” Carmen called in a singsong voice. The children assembled around Victor cheered. The parents oohed and ahhed.
And Victor was very nearly about to break character.
Cálmate, cabrón, he told himself. You’re an international superstar. You’ve played sold-out shows all over the world, in the biggest venues. This is just one harmless snake!
The snake, still in its handler’s arms, eyed him impassively.
Victor’s armpits began to sweat.
The snake came closer.
Swallowing hard, Victor raised his arms, tensed all his muscles, and let them hand him the python.
The kids crowded around him. He smiled for the camera.
The snake shifted its weight. Victor’s arms trembled from the stress. And then . . .
His nose started to tickle.
“Three . . .” the photographer counted down. “Two . . .”
On “one,” Victor sneezed, nearly dropping Luther. Reflexively, his arms clenched, gathering the snake close to his chest. Luther—Lucy—whatever—slithered its head over his shoulder and around the back of his neck.
Victor froze. Fuck. This.
“Somebody take this snake!” he shouted.
“Cut!”
Chapter 21
Ashton’s eyes itched, his nose ran, and if he never heard “Somebody take this snake!” again in his life, it would be too soon. Worse, the director had loved it and decided to keep it for the final cut.
Between the children and the animals, Ashton’s sneezing, and everyone breaking character left and right, the animal charity event required the most takes of any scene they’d filmed yet. By the end, people were already talking about the blooper reel, and Ashton’s allergies were in full swing, but he had to admit, he was having fun. So when Jasmine told him the cast was going out for karaoke that night, he surprised them all by saying yes.
“I’m not sure how good my singing will be,” he warned, sniffling. “You might have noticed I’m having an allergy attack.”
Jasmine handed him a pack of tissues. “Was it the cats or the dogs?”
“The kittens,” he admitted. “Cute little things, but I’m severely allergic to them. Ya—you know what I mean?”
She simply nodded, not catching his slip, but his insides turned to ice. He’d almost said Yadiel’s name—his son was always begging for a pet. Ashton’s cat allergies and Abuelita Bibi’s aversion to dogs made that impossible, but didn’t stop Yadiel from making pointed comments about the cuteness of every dog and cat he encountered.
Ashton was the last to arrive at the karaoke place in Midtown where Jasmine had booked a private room. Three bottles of wine and two pitchers of beer sat on the low table in the center of the room, and Miriam was in the middle of belting out a Selena song.
Jasmine sidled up and nudged him with her shoulder. “I didn’t think you were going to show.”
“I said I would.” It sounded curt, but he hadn’t meant it to. It was just that his mouth had gone bone-dry at the sight of her. She wore some lacy scrap of a shirt that left her shoulders and midriff bare and revealed an enticing curve of cleavage. He’d seen her in sexy outfits—Carmen went through a lot of wardrobe changes—but knowing Jasmine had picked this out herself made a difference. It was whimsical and sexy all at once. Just like her.
“Besides,” he added, trying to lighten his tone. “How could I miss this?”
At the moment, Miriam was bidi-bidi-bom-bomming her way across the room to whoops and wepas from the other Carmen in Charge actors.
Ashton clapped as the song came to an end, and in the silence before the next one began, he let loose a tremendous sneeze.
“¡Salud!” the group chorused.
Ashton’s face heated, but he raised his voice and said, “Gracias.” A second later, a Thalía song came on, and everyone turned back to the screen.
Jasmine patted his arm. “I have extra tissues for you in my purse.”
Despite this being Ashton’s first time socializing with the cast outside of work, everyone seemed happy to see him. He accepted a glass of wine from Lily and got into a deep discussion with Peter and Nino about the Yankees.
While he waited for his song to start, Ashton reflected on the diverse makeup of the cast. He was puertorriqueño, born on the island. Jasmine was second generation Puerto Rican and Filipina. Nino was first gen Dominican and Haitian. Lily was Mexican American. Peter was Dominican, but had lived in New York most of his life. And Miriam was Cuban American from Miami.
They were a mix of immigrants, first generation, and those whose heritage went further back. Lily’s family had lived in Arizona for multiple generations. And the rest of the cast and crew hailed from many other Latin American countries: Colombia, Panama, Brazil, Ecuador, and more.
On a bulletin board outside the showrunner’s office, Marquita had posted a sign that said QUÉ BONITAS BANDERAS and invited everyone to tack up their respective flags to show the range of nationalities in the production, but also that the strength of the Latinx comunidad was in its diversity. Marquita had also made a point to include a rainbow pride flag and the pink, white, and light blue trans flag. Nino had gone still as a statue when he’d seen it, then hugged Marquita tight.
Ashton had been on many sets that were majority Latinx, but there was something different about this one. Maybe because it was for a mainstream streaming service, but there was a fierce pride in what they were doing here, a shared determination to make Carmen in Charge the very best it could be. And now, it showed in the way they let loose.
