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.