Except for one thing.
After getting the role, Ashton had googled Jasmine, expecting to find the usual—a Wikipedia page with her headshot and birthday, an IMDb listing with all her acting roles, her social media accounts, maybe some YouTube clips. Instead, he’d been surprised to see the first results were recent news stories about her breakup with some musician he’d never heard of who only went by one name.
McIntyre, a lanky guy with greasy hair, tattoos, and a guitar, was known for his disaffected attitude and crooning vocals. Ashton’s first thought when he’d seen pictures of the guy was “cut your damn hair,” and then he worried that meant he was getting old. He also wondered what Jasmine had ever seen in the guy, then chastised himself. He had no business wondering or judging.
The tabloids were having a field day with the story. And as much as Ashton sympathized with Jasmine, he didn’t want to get dragged into the media circus surrounding her. He already struggled to keep his personal life out of the Latinx entertainment news, and he’d have to be extra careful not to do or say anything that would give English-language tabloids reason to pay more attention to him. Being costars was often enough to start rumors, and Jasmine was stunningly beautiful, which already made them prime bait for a behind-the-scenes romance rumor. Not her fault, but people often looked for stories that weren’t there. Truth was, Ashton had no time for romance, behind the scenes or otherwise. But the press didn’t care about what was true—only what sold magazines or got clicks. Aside from work, he would have to keep his distance from Jasmine.
With his cup filled with sweet, caffeinated nectar, Ashton took his time adding more sugar and cream. With as much energy as he put in at the gym and monitoring his diet, fixing his coffee just the way he liked it was one of his only remaining vices. Once he was done, he stepped back from the table, intending to find his new costar to introduce himself.
Instead, his heel landed on something that wasn’t linoleum, and someone behind him let out a high-pitched yelp.
Ashton spun in surprise, colliding with a body. There was a splash, followed by a clattering sound. The smell of coffee intensified. And he stared in horror at the sight of a woman wearing a white blouse and soft pink slacks, now splattered and dripping with foamy brown stains. Ice cubes scattered on the tiles around her stiletto-clad feet.
It would have been bad enough to spill coffee on anyone during his first day on the job, but this was not just any woman. It was Jasmine Lin, his new costar. She was gorgeous—her golden skin glowed against the white of her wet shirt, now clinging to her torso and breasts—but at the moment, she looked like she wanted to murder him. Her dark brows set in a fierce scowl, and her full lips parted over clenched teeth. The nerves he’d battled all morning took over and came out of his mouth.
“Um, hola.” Trying for a joke, he gestured at the half-empty cup in her hand. “Supongo que no te ibas a beber eso.”
When she just stared at him, mouth hanging open, his stomach sank. So much for getting off on the right foot.
Chapter 3
The combination of ice-cold coffee, unexpected Spanish, and the full force of Ashton’s famously handsome face stole Jasmine’s voice. Her silk shirt clung to her chilled skin, thanks to the faulty lid that had leaped off her cold brew the second Ashton had backed into her.
Ashton. She drank him in as if he were a steaming cappuccino on a cold day, her body warming from the inside despite the inadvertent ice bath. Dark curly hair, the shadow of a beard, tan skin, and sexy dark brown eyes. He seemed even taller in person, and more magnetic, like a behemoth of a planet tugging her into his orbit.
She felt drawn to him in a way that made no sense, but that was the magic of TV—it made you feel close to people you’d never met, through familiarity and carefully crafted characters designed to make you root for them, fall in love with them, or love to hate them.
And here he was, in the flesh, and somehow even hotter in person. The Golden Lion. She’d watched some episodes at Michelle’s urging, and Ashton’s command of the viewer’s attention was masterful.
In an effort to ignore the way her heart pounded at his nearness, she focused on what he’d said.
Since she didn’t want to admit just yet that she wasn’t fluent in Spanish, Jasmine picked over the words, replaying them in her mind and translating each one.
Hola. Those first deep, fluid syllables of his greeting had sent a thrill through her.
Supongo que no te ibas a beber eso.
I guess you weren’t going to drink that.
Wait, was he being sarcastic? Or serious? Shit, she couldn’t tell.
Jasmine narrowed her eyes at him just in case. “Was that meant to be a joke?”
His eyebrows twitched, like maybe he was surprised she’d answered in English. She was used to that.
“Uh . . . yes. A joke. But not a funny joke, I see.” In English, his deep voice was accented and smooth. He grabbed a handful of paper napkins from the table and thrust them at her. “I’m Ashton Suarez.”
“I know who you are. My grandmother absolutely adores you.” God, had she really just said that? Jasmine patted her torso with the napkins, which did little to sop up the dark coffee soaking her shirt. Even worse, although it was hard to tell from her vantage point, she was pretty sure the white silk had become see-through. She tried to pull on the wet fabric so it didn’t cling to her like a second skin, but it just slapped back onto her boobs. Awesome.
“I’ll take care of the dry cleaning.” His expression was contrite, and the worry in his eyes made him look younger, more boyish.
“Don’t bother. They’re probably ruined.” It came out bitchier than she meant it to, so she added, “Anyway, they’re just clothes.”
Just clothes she’d spent two hours selecting, with her cousins’ help. She bit back a sigh. She didn’t want to make him feel bad, but fuck, this was inconvenient.
“I’m sorry for stepping on you,” Ashton said in a rush, as if belatedly realizing he hadn’t yet apologized. “And bumping into you. And spilling your coffee.”
She shrugged and sent him a rueful smile. “It was an accident. But I could have used the caffeine.”
He held up his own cup. “Do you want mine?”
Had he drunk from it yet? Didn’t matter. She’d soon be locking lips with this guy. And it would be rude to turn down his olive branch.
“Sure, thanks.” Their fingers brushed and she sucked in a trembling breath. To cover the blush rising in her cheeks, she quickly brought the cup to her lips. Took a sip. And gagged.
“Jeez, how much sugar did you put in there?”
He grimaced. “A lot?”
Jasmine shoved the cup back at him. “Thanks but I think I’ve had enough coffee for today.” She gestured at her shirt and his eyes followed her movement. Damn it, she’d drawn his attention back to the now-sheer blouse clinging to her breasts. Just brilliant.
With what seemed like great effort, Ashton dragged his gaze away from her chest and back to her eyes. His expression was bland, but she caught the ripple of his throat as he swallowed.
Her skin grew hot with embarrassment and, damn it, attraction. This was so not how she’d imagined their first meeting unfolding. She had to get out of here.