You Had Me at Hola

by Alexis Daria

  “Victor, you were amazing,” she said. All the love she felt for him reverberated through her voice. “The crowd adored you. And now there’s the book deal, the tour, the new album—you’ve done it. I’m so proud of you.”

  Victor took her in his arms and held her close. “It’s all because of you, Carmencita. You always believed in me. You saw the best in me, even when I didn’t see it in myself. Everything I’ve done, I owe to you.”

  “You sure know the way to my heart,” she said, blinking back tears. “Complimenting my work will get you everywhere.”

  “There’s only one place I want to be.” With a husky laugh, he leaned in and kissed her. It was the hottest, most sensual kiss they’d shared since his return, deeper and more intense than all the others. Their hands roamed each other’s bodies as he backed her into the vanity and helped her perch on the tiny counter.

  When Victor broke the kiss, Carmen started unbuttoning his shirt, desperate to touch him, but Victor had other ideas. Dropping to his knees, he pushed her skirt up and parted her thighs. Carmen leaned back on the mirror, eyes closed, one hand clutching his hair as he pressed his face between her legs. She fought to catch her breath, repeating his name over and over until her voice broke on a low moan and she shuddered.

  He rose and pressed his forehead to hers. They were both breathing hard.

  She fought back tears. You’re breaking my heart, Ashton Suarez.

  “Carmen,” Victor said softly. “I—”

  Someone knocked on the door.

  Carmen jumped to her feet, only a little unsteady. “Who could that be?” she whispered. “My father? I thought he already went home.”

  Turning to the mirror, she quickly straightened her clothing and swiped at her smeared lipstick.

  “I’ll check.” Victor fixed his hair and adjusted his pants before he went to the door. When he opened it, he froze, staring at the person on the other side for a long beat. Behind him, Carmen gasped and pressed a hand to her throat in shock. Then Victor’s brows creased, his expression turning as hard and impenetrable as granite.

  “What are you doing here?” he demanded.

  “Cut! And that is a wrap!”

  Chapter 36

  With that, the last episode of Carmen in Charge was complete.

  Jasmine let out a long breath and pressed her hand to her solar plexus. Her legs shook, and she wanted to weep, but all around her, cast and crew members were cheering. A few feet away on the tour bus interior set, Ashton turned to her. It was hard to look him in the eyes, considering he’d just had his face between her legs and they were barely on speaking terms.

  She’d been surprised that the writers had included Victor going down on Carmen, but hell, after putting up with so much of Victor’s nonsense, Carmen deserved some spontaneous cunnilingus on a tour bus. It had been a painful melding of worlds, since Jasmine knew from experience just how it would feel and how Carmen should react. But it was over now.

  She couldn’t wait to get the fuck out of there.

  When Ashton raised his hand for their post-take ritual, the corners of his eyes were tight with unexpressed emotion. Jasmine refused to look deeper. She was past caring how he felt.

  No, that wasn’t true. She did care. She just couldn’t turn off her feelings as easily as a faucet, and she was trying to steel herself for what she planned to do later. That line in the sand was begging to be drawn.

  He was still waiting, so she lifted her hand and smacked his palm in a half-hearted high five. The last one they’d ever share.

  Before she could talk herself out of it, she grabbed his elbow and leaned in. “Meet me in my room,” she told him, fighting to keep her voice steady. “When you get back to the hotel tonight.”

  His gaze searched hers for a long moment. Just when she thought he was going to flat-out refuse, he nodded.

  Without another word, she pasted a smile on her face and leaped into the fray. Someone handed her a glass of champagne, which she accepted gratefully and downed in one go. She hugged everyone and pretended to be happy, but inside, she was a wreck.

  The day had been hot and long, with New York City’s particularly disgusting brand of humidity. When Jasmine got back to the room that night, she took a shower and changed into a summery dress that accentuated all her best assets. She needed to wash the stress of the day off her, and while she knew it was petty, she wanted to look gorgeous when she confronted Ashton.

  But the longer she waited, the more her stomach tied itself into knots. She hated confrontation, hated hurting people. But being in limbo with Ashton while filming episode eight had destroyed her. To go from being in love with him to only connecting through their characters had taken a toll, and the only thing she could think to do was enforce the strongest boundaries possible.

  Leading Ladies are whole and happy on their own.

  When she’d first written down the Leading Lady Plan, she hadn’t believed it. But now, she understood that being whole and happy on her own was the only way the other two things—getting recognition for positive reasons and making jefa moves—could happen.

  She didn’t know what she was going to do next, but whatever it was, it would be on her own terms. For now, she was getting the hell out of dodge and going back to her apartment in LA that didn’t contain any pesky memories of Ashton. She was going to put her head down and work while she waited for the reaction to Carmen in Charge. No dating. And then . . . they would see.

  Too nervous to eat, she rummaged around in her suite’s kitchen and found a bottle of Patrón that Michelle had left behind. Jasmine was more of a wine drinker, so she didn’t have shot glasses on hand. Improvising, she poured two fingers’ worth into one of the drinking glasses, then knocked it back.

  Oh, lord. The tequila hit like a sledgehammer all the way down. But it had the intended effect of strengthening her resolve, hardening her heart, and incinerating the tears building in her throat.

  Before she could resort to turning on a playlist of breakup songs, Ashton knocked on the door.

  She opened it, and all the witty, sarcastic greetings she’d practiced fled from her mind. Did he have to be so handsome? Or smell so good?

  Or look so solemn?

  “Come in,” she said quietly, stepping aside.

  He went through the little hallway into the living room, but didn’t sit down.

  “Do you want something to drink?” she asked, unnerved by his silence.

  “I’m fine,” he said. “I can’t stay long. I have to check on my family.”

  He could barely look at her, and the awkwardness was killing her slowly. Bracing herself, she got right to the point.

  “I won’t drag this out,” she said. “But I want to be perfectly clear. We’re done.”

  Jasmine balled her hands into fists. Apparently breakups felt awful even when you weren’t on the receiving end. Who knew?

  Eyes downcast, Ashton nodded. “Understood. If there’s a season two—”

  “There won’t be a season two.”

  His eyes shot up at her interruption. “How do you know? Did you hear something?”

  She shook her head. This would be the final nail in the coffin. “If it gets picked up, I’ll fight it. I’m done with Carmen.”

  And you. She didn’t say it, it was too mean. But it was implied.

  The look on his face was horror-stricken, like she’d broken his heart.

  But she knew she hadn’t. She was the one with the broken heart.

  ASHTON FELT LIKE she’d slapped him. His entire body prickled, but it wasn’t anger—it was panic.

  “Are you kidding me?” He ground out the words, too taken aback to articulate more.

  She shook her head. “I’m perfectly serious.”

  She couldn’t be. Desperation welled up inside him. This show was his big break, but Jasmine played the title character. If she quit, the show was over.

  “Jasmine, think about this. Why would you do that?”

  “Why not?” Her
eyes flashed, whether with anger or pain, he wasn’t sure. “Why would I want to put myself through this again?”

  Coño, she was right. He’d known better. He never should have gotten involved with her in the first place, and once he had, he should have told her about Yadiel. He hadn’t, and that was on him.

  But the rest? With the show? That was business. He needed this show. For one thing, it paid more than telenovelas, and he had a lot of people relying on him to pay the bills. And the exposure was the next step on his road to that Best Actor nom. He wasn’t getting any younger here. He was certainly too old to have made a stupid mistake like having a fling with his costar and sabotaging his career. Yet here they were.

  In the back of his mind, he felt bad thinking about it as a fling, and he felt bad about being angry at her. It took two to tango, and he’d been right there with her, diving headlong into a love neither could afford.

  But anxiety and a sense of betrayal sparked his anger and came flowing out of his mouth. “I cannot believe you are sabotaging me this way.”

  Her eyes went wide. “Excuse me?”

  “You know what a good thing we have going here? ScreenFlix is the number one streaming service in the world. We might never get the chance to work on a Latinx-driven mainstream production like this again.”

  His phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out to glance at the screen. His father was calling.

  But Jasmine wasn’t taking his accusation quietly.

  “Don’t act like you care about this show,” she scoffed. “It was like pulling teeth to get you to connect with the rest of the cast. And look, you’re not even paying attention now. My cousins were right. You are full of yourself.”

  With an angry move, he sent the call to voice mail and tossed his phone across the room, onto the sofa cushions.

  “There,” he bit off. “Happy now?”

  “Do I look like I’m happy?” she snapped, brow furrowed in exasperation.

  He didn’t answer that. Instead, he tried to reason with her. “We’re both contracted for three seasons.”

  She shrugged and looked away. “So?”

  “Jasmine, this show is a great opportunity—for both of us. Don’t make a—”

  “A what?” She fisted her hands on her hips and stared him down.

  “A . . .” What was he going to say? Something with “emotional,” but he realized that was a bad idea. “Don’t make a decision from . . . from your feelings . . .”

  “Are you calling me emotional?” She narrowed her eyes at him and he knew he was in trouble.

  “No. You—” Use “I” statements, idiot. That’s what Vera always reminded them during their rehearsals, although she’d never called him an idiot. “I mean, I feel that this is a rash decision. A mistake.”

  Jasmine let out a strangled laugh. “Of course you do. Because this is all about you. You never once considered me, or my feelings, or thought that I would want to know—” She snapped her mouth shut.

  “Is this because of Yadiel?”

  She shot him an impatient glance. “No, it’s because you didn’t tell me about Yadiel. Please tell me you understand the difference.”

  He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I haven’t told anyone about him.”

  “Well, I’m not just anyone.” Her voice rose in anger. “Don’t treat me like I’m some random person on the street trying to get a picture with the famous Ashton Suarez.”

  The way she said his name, the sarcastic air quotes were clearly implied.

  “Jasmine, I gave you more than I’ve given anyone else in . . . in a long time.” Ever. “And with the way the press is always on your ass, can you blame me for not wanting to reveal everything?”

  She sucked in a breath, and her eyebrows dipped in pain. It was a low blow, and he felt terrible, especially since he knew she didn’t enjoy all the attention the media heaped on her.

  Jasmine let out a shaky breath, and in a severe voice, said, “Ashton. You can’t have it both ways.”

  His brow creased. “What do you mean? I’ve been in this business a long time, and I managed to keep Yadiel hidden until now.”

  She shut her eyes against his words, and he knew he’d hurt her again. He couldn’t seem to stop. The stress of the last couple weeks had worn him raw.

  “You know, I sometimes think, ‘I never asked for it,’” she said in a quiet voice. “But the truth is, the second I signed a contract to be on television, I made a deal with the public. They would get part of me in exchange for knowing my face and connecting with the characters I play. And so did you. You can’t have it both ways, Ashton. You can’t be a public figure and have a completely private life. You think the actors who make it to the Oscars have privacy? Don’t be naive.”

  He felt like the walls were closing in on him. “I was doing pretty well at it until I met you.”

  She sucked in a shocked breath, and the hurt that crossed her features made him feel like absolute shit. It had been another low blow, and he opened his mouth to apologize, but the hotel phone interrupted him. They both stared at it, startled by the ringing of an actual telephone.

  “Don’t say another word,” she ground out, her voice hoarse and brittle. She moved to the desk to answer it.

  “Hello?” She listened for a moment, then sent Ashton a worried look. “Sí, él está aquí.”

  Ashton’s surprise at hearing her speak Spanish meant he wasn’t thinking about who was on the phone. When he lifted the receiver to his ear, he was shocked to hear his father’s voice on the other end. He listened to Ignacio with growing horror, guilt and fear roiling in his gut. With frantic movements, he grabbed the pen and paper on the side of the desk and scribbled down the information.

  “Ya salgo para allá.” Ashton replaced the phone in the cradle and stalked over to the sofa. Digging around in the cushions, he retrieved his cell phone and checked the screen. Five missed calls from his father, and a series of texts, telling him what he now already knew.

  “Yadiel fell,” he said harshly.

  Behind him, Jasmine gasped. “Oh my god. Is he okay?”

  The concern in her voice was genuine, but Ashton was too fired up to be kind. “He broke his collarbone. They’re in the ER and my father has been trying to reach me.”

  “Oh no. I hope—”

  “Jasmine, don’t you see?” Ashton didn’t want her trying to make him feel better. His child was hurt, and he hadn’t been there. Never mind that Yadiel was always climbing and falling and hurting himself. Ashton had years’ worth of guilt stored up, and for the first time, he had somewhere to direct the pain.

  Even if, in the back of his mind, he knew she didn’t deserve it.

  When she didn’t respond, he whirled on her, ignoring the hurt look on her pretty face.

  “I don’t have time for this.” He waved a hand, vaguely gesturing at them and everything between them. “Any of it. I should have been with my family. If I had—” Guilt stabbed at him. “My family and my career are the most important things in my life, and now you’ve managed to sabotage both.”

  He ignored her sharp gasp and headed for the door. When he got there, he paused, and gave her his most painful truth. “I’m sorry, Jasmine. I just don’t have room for you.”

  He left without looking back and caught a taxi to the emergency room where his family waited. The whole time, he replayed the horrible things he’d said. The guilt of hurting her mixed with the guilt of not being there for his son, until he felt like he was going to vomit. Or maybe it was the cab driver’s heavy foot on the brake. Either way, by the time he got to the ER, he was sick with worry.

  He found Yadiel sitting in a hospital bed playing with Star Wars LEGOs. A sling kept his left arm mostly still. Ignacio sat on a chair next to the bed reading a murder mystery in Spanish.

  “Mijo, are you okay?” Ashton rushed over, checking his son for any other signs of injury or distress.

  But Yadiel simply received him with a sunny, gap-toothed smile. “Hi, Papi.
Can we go home now? To the apartment, I mean.”

  Ignacio closed the book and stood. “We’re all done here,” he said in Spanish. “They patched him up sooner than expected. We would have met you back at the rental, but you were already on your way, so we figured we’d wait. Your grandparents already went back in a taxi.”

  Ashton felt like the floor had rocked under his feet. Yadiel was . . . fine. Everyone was fine. Without him. He’d built up all this anxiety and fear—for nothing. And now the emotions had nowhere to go.

  Ignacio gathered the LEGOs and his book into Yadiel’s Spider-Man backpack and hoisted it over his own shoulder. “Vámonos, Yadi.”

  “Okay, ’Buelo.”

  Ashton moved to help, but Yadiel slid off the bed on his own and skipped out of the room.

  Feeling useless, Ashton walked beside his father. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here sooner.”

  Ignacio shrugged. “No es nada. You know this happens to Yadiel all the time. Since we were in the same city, I figured you could come deal with the insurance and everything. But I handled it. No big deal.”

  As Ashton followed his father and his son out of the ER, an unpleasant feeling simmered in his gut.

  His own family didn’t need him. They managed just fine, functioning as a cohesive unit whenever he wasn’t there . . . which was most of the time. Everything he’d done had been for their safety and well-being. But as much as he wanted to protect his son from everything, maybe he couldn’t. And maybe . . . that was okay.

  If that was true . . . he’d been tremendously unfair to Jasmine.

  He wanted to run back to her. To apologize, to spill all of his hopes and fears where Yadiel and his family were concerned.

  But after all he’d said, he had no right to ask her for any more emotional labor on his behalf. They were done. And it was better this way.

  He was on his own.

  Chapter 37

  The wrap party was held at an event space in Chelsea with a trendy, industrial vibe. Exposed pipes, neon pink and purple lighting, gray concrete floor, and a circular bar in the center manned by two overworked bartenders.