When his coffee finished brewing, he added a ton of milk and sugar from the mini-fridge and stirred. The smell comforted him, reminded him of the way his mother had brewed her morning cafecito. Maybe he should order an espresso machine for his dressing room. He’d just taken his first sip when someone knocked on the door.
“It’s Jasmine,” came a voice from the other side.
Heart pounding, Ashton set down the mug, just in case. He was still mortified about their first encounter. For a split second, he thought of pretending not to be in, but that was stupid. He got up and opened the door.
Jasmine greeted him with a brilliant smile that made his pulse beat even harder. She was so fucking pretty, and she’d been so forgiving after the coffee thing, even when she would have been totally justified in chewing him out.
“Hey, Ashton,” she said. “I just wanted to let you know a bunch of us are going out for drinks after we finish on Friday. We have a reservation at a tapas bar that Miriam recommended. Do you want to come with us?”
“Ah . . .” Ashton’s mind ricocheted between yes and no. He should say yes. What was the harm? But some unidentified anxiety held him back. It was that damned pond metaphor. This was a bigger pond, and he was scared to dip his toe in.
“Gracias, pero no,” he finally said. “Para la próxima.”
“Okay.” Jasmine’s smile tightened, and her voice was brittle. “Maybe next time.”
Closing the door, he shook his head at himself. What the fuck was wrong with him? Why couldn’t he bring himself to trust these people enough to go out for one night?
Because you don’t trust anybody, a little voice whispered in the back of his mind.
It was true. He didn’t. His father and grandparents, yes, but that was it. Over the years, he’d grown more and more withdrawn.
He hadn’t always been this way, damn it. In his twenties, he’d relished his budding fame, partying and clubbing with his actor friends and enjoying everything the Miami nightlife had to offer.
But then he’d become a father, and everything changed.
When Yadiel had been born, his mother—another telenovela star Ashton had a short-lived fling with—had handed the baby over, along with a list of terms. As a devout Catholic, she’d done her duty by giving birth, but she had no interest in ever being a mother. It would ruin her career. Ashton could have full custody, provided he kept her identity secret and paid for the cosmetic surgery treatments to get her body back to what it had been pre-pregnancy. Not only that, she never wanted to work on a show with Ashton ever again.
For Ashton, who’d grown up as an only child, the prospect of being a dad had been scary, but exciting. The first time he’d held Yadiel in the hospital in Orlando, his heart had broken and reformed into something stronger than he’d ever imagined, forged in the purest love someone could feel. His son was everything to him, and Yadiel’s happiness and well-being was worth any price. Yadiel’s birth had brought joy back to Ignacio, too, who’d struggled to find his balance after losing his wife.
But that didn’t mean there weren’t sacrifices, or stress. Every time hurricane season rolled around, Ashton bit his nails and sweated while he watched the weather reports, ready to hop on a plane to evacuate his family at a moment’s notice.
And the bigger his career grew, the more he worried about how his visibility would affect his son. He still had nightmares about being awakened by a sound in the middle of the night. Of getting up, as he often did since becoming a father, to check on his little boy as he slept.
Of finding a shadowy figure outside Yadiel’s broken window.
Everything changed after the night an overzealous fan-turned-stalker, angry that Ashton hadn’t been replying to his letters, tried to break into Yadiel’s nursery. It happened after a local Miami newspaper ran a story on neighborhoods where telenovela stars lived. Ashton hadn’t even been that famous then, living in a modest residential neighborhood on a typical telenovela actor’s salary, which wasn’t as high as people thought. But that had been enough for the man to find his home.
Even though Ashton moved his son to Puerto Rico after the Incident, as he called it, it had taken a long time to feel safe again. Ashton still pursued his career, but he did it with his walls up. The Latin American media could be merciless, so he did everything in his power to keep his son safe and hidden. Even if it meant spending time away from him.
Even if it meant closing himself off from everything and everyone else. Including his new costars.
Just thinking about the Incident made him antsy, and being far away from home didn’t help.
He drank a big gulp of coffee, then picked up his phone and shot another check-in text to Ignacio.
Chapter 7
CARMEN IN CHARGE
EPISODE 2
Scene: Carmen and Victor attend a red-carpet event.
EXT: Red carpet—NIGHT
At the edge of the red carpet, Carmen adjusted the bodice of her dress, making a show of looking uncomfortable in the strapless blue-sequined getup. “I still don’t understand why I have to be in the photos with you.”
Victor grinned down at her, and butterflies fluttered in her belly, spurred to action by the full, stunning force of his attention. “Because you’re my date.”
“No, I’m not.” Go back to sleep, butterflies. This isn’t real. “I’m your publicist. Babysitter even. Not your date.”
Victor lowered his head and his voice. The dulcet tones shivered over her skin. “Once upon a time, you loved being on my arm on the red carpet.”
“Yeah, well, once upon a time I was your wife,” Carmen retorted, the words coming out harsh as she tried to ignore the delicious things his voice was doing to her. “And now I’m not.”
Victor straightened, his expression hardening. Carmen tried to ignore the prick of her conscience, letting her gaze drift over to the carpet, where other beautifully dressed people posed for pictures while flashbulbs popped. The lighting and set designers had outdone themselves with this one.
“We’re next,” Victor said, his voice cold.
Yep. She’d hurt his feelings. But he’d hurt her too. There were lots of reasons why they’d gotten divorced, and one of them was that they just couldn’t stop hurting each other.
Or at least, that was the back story she’d come up with on her own while reading the script.
Carmen took a deep breath, fixed a smile on her face, and stepped out onto the carpet, clinging to Victor’s arm.
Lights flashed. Extras milled around silently. The hum of the crowd would be added in later. Carmen smiled, awash in nerves and the need to appear professional. She wasn’t here as his date, but his publicist. Her only goal was to help repair Victor’s image so she could save the family business. She was not here to have fun, or to enjoy being close to him.
Even though she did enjoy it.
As they moved to their mark, Victor spoke out of the corner of his mouth. “This isn’t so bad, is it?”
“It’s terrible,” Carmen said through a tight smile. But she didn’t mean the lights or the people. She meant the closeness, the scent of his cologne wrapping around her like a comforting cloud, his hard body warm at her side.
It was all so terribly . . . wonderful. She wanted to shift closer, to lean into him, to wrap herself in his warmth and the feel of his skin against hers.