Sammy grinned. “You made me lose a bet, you know.”

Jasmine didn’t like where this was going. “How’s that?”

“I figured you and McIntyre would last at least three months, but you had to join the Sisterhood of the Single Ladies over here, huh?” He gestured at the three of them on the sofa.

While Michelle and Ava shouted at Sammy to get out, Jasmine groaned and covered her face with her hands. Had she really just been thinking of moving here permanently? Forget it. She was booking her return flight to Los Angeles the second the show wrapped.

Chapter 2

The elevator doors pinged, then opened with a whoosh, and Ashton Suarez stepped into ScreenFlix’s Midtown Manhattan office for the first time.

The ScreenFlix office decor was trendy and spacious—glass walls, leather armchairs, lots of plants. The orange and dark gray ScreenFlix logo was everywhere, along with posters from some of the streaming network’s hottest original shows, like The Clandestine Cases of Detective Yang, Showbiz, Party All Night, and The Dreamers. Wide windows overlooked Bryant Park’s expansive lawn.

It had been years since Ashton had worked for a new production company. The studio lot in Miami where he filmed telenovelas was so familiar to him, he barely even noticed his surroundings there anymore. And while he wouldn’t be filming here—ScreenFlix Studios was located in Queens—he paused to take it all in.

And to give himself a pep talk.

Get your act together, pendejo. You wanted this.

The first time meeting a new cast always brought on a case of nerves, and it didn’t help that this particular production had the chance to make or break his career. ScreenFlix was a whole new ball game.

The production assistant waiting nearby gave him a friendly smile. “Hello, Mr. Suarez. I’m Skye. I’m here to take you to the conference room.”

Skye had close-cropped brown hair and porcelain skin, wore a “they/them” button on the lapel of their peach linen blazer, and carried a tablet tucked under one arm.

“Thanks.” Ashton stuck his hands in his pockets before he could pick at his nails. He needed a prop, something to hold. “Do you know where I could get a cup of coffee?”

“I’ll take you to the green room first,” Skye said, gesturing for Ashton to follow. “You can chill there before the table read.”

As Ashton followed them, he mentally ran through the show notes he’d been sent by the producer the night before. Even though he’d read them countless times already, it made him feel prepared and more in control. Plus, it gave him something to think about other than the spiraling state of his acting career.

Carmen in Charge would follow the love life and professional pursuits of Carmen Serrano, a public relations manager working for a firm that specialized in booking events for Spanish-speaking stars during their trips to New York City. Ashton had been cast to play Victor Vega, a famous singer. Originally, Victor had been one of Carmen’s clients. But the writers had made a big change—Victor was now going to be Carmen’s ex-husband.

An ex-husband was a completely different dynamic than a new love interest. There would be an immediate level of familiarity between the characters, a sense of emotional baggage and underlying sexual tension. The whole show hinged on the developing romance between Carmen and Victor. Not only had he not done a chemistry read for the role, Ashton had never even met his costar, Jasmine Lin. Yeah, he’d played the romantic lead dozens of times, but he already knew most of the Miami-area actors pretty well and felt comfortable around them. Jasmine was an unknown entity.

The stakes had never been this high. In the world of telenovelas, he was well-known, ever since his star turn on La maldición del león dorado. And up until a few months ago, he’d felt steady in his position there. Then El fuego de amor had given him a villain narrative, and while it had been a refreshing change of pace from his typical macho hero roles, the writers had then written him into a love triangle and killed him off. Well, killed his character off. But the shock and betrayal had felt the same. On the show, he’d lost his life and lost the heroine to the other male lead—Fernando Vargas, a Chilean actor ten years Ashton’s junior.

Ever since Ashton had played el león dorado five years earlier, he’d always made it to the finale episode. Despite being shot, stabbed, and thrown from cliffs, his characters had always survived, and in some cases, gone on to happy endings. Now, that streak was broken, and he was terrified about what it meant for his career.

His agent had spoken with the writers and producers, bringing up various options for keeping him involved with the show. Evil twin, back from the dead—any number of tried-and-true tropes could be used. None of it had made a difference. They’d felt his character’s death was the best story arc, and anyway, he was only missing out on a few episodes before the show ended. What was the big deal?

The big deal was that Ashton was almost forty, and after fifteen years, he was spinning his wheels in the telenovela landscape because he believed it would eventually catapult him beyond. He was waiting for the chance to prove himself and instead, he’d been removed from the show early.

He still had no idea if he’d done something to piss off an exec or if the viewers were just tired of him. There’d been a minor outcry on social media when the episode aired, but by then it had been too late. In the meantime, he’d only managed to book a couple of pilot episodes that didn’t seem likely to get picked up.

So when the call came in for Carmen in Charge, Ashton had leaped at the chance. He was a last-minute replacement, scooped up by the casting gods thanks to a taped audition his agent had sent on a whim. Even though it was a telenovela remake, ScreenFlix would get him in front of a broader audience, and hopefully on the path to becoming the next Javier Bardem.

In the back of his mind, though, he worried this would be his last shot. If this didn’t work out, where would it leave him?

Carajo. So much for not thinking about it. On the outside, he was cool and collected as he followed Skye through the office space, passing glassed-in offices and open-plan desk areas where people worked at their computers. No one even looked at him—they were probably used to actors walking through here all the time—but he still felt exposed.

On the inside? He was struggling not to think about all the ways this could go wrong.

Skye stopped in front of an open doorway and gestured with a flourish. “Your coffee awaits,” they said, and Ashton pulled himself together long enough to smile and thank them.

The green room had a small kitchenette attached to it, with three different kinds of coffee makers. Even though it was just after eight in the morning, his first cup had been over three hours ago, and he needed the pick-me-up. And since he was feeling stressed, he opted to indulge his sweet tooth with one of the French vanilla coffee pods in the basket.

Once it was brewing, Ashton checked his watch. He’d meet Jasmine for the first time in twenty minutes, at the table read. It was stupid to feel so nervous. She worked in soap operas, which had a grueling production schedule similar to that of telenovelas, where they could sometimes film an episode a day. That meant she likely had a good work ethic and would be totally professional—traits he could admire in a scene partner. He’d do his best to be charming and make sure they got off on the right foot. It would be fine.