Page 33 of You Had Me at Hola
She rolled her eyes, and he was alarmed to see the sheen of moisture in them. “I feel like a fraud.”
“Hey.” He reached out to touch her then, scooting forward on the chair and circling her wrist with his fingers. Aiming to soothe, he stroked his thumb over the soft skin there. “They cast you for a reason. Carmen is fierce. She commands thespace around her. I’ve seen clips of your other shows. You have that power.”
She huffed out a humorless laugh. “I don’t always feel like it.”
Like a good scene partner, he matched her vulnerability with his own. “Jasmine, all I’ve ever wanted is to prove I’m more than just a telenovela hero. This is our chance to show everyone what we’re made of. Me, with my accent that will never go away no matter how hard I try, and you, with your Nuyorican roots and toddler-level Spanglish.”
She tried and failed to suppress a smile. “You’re making fun of me.”
“A little. It’s not often I have the upper hand, language-wise.” He grinned. “We’ll help each other, okay?” He released her wrist and sat back in his chair. “We’ll practice. We both have a lot riding on this.”
She gave him a shrewd look. “I’m trying to shift the narrative away from my love life. What are you hoping to get out of this show?”
“I want to prove that I’m good enough for Hollywood,” he said, then shrugged. “And yes, I want to make my last show regret killing my character off.”
“So this is why you have a reputation for being conceited,” she said with a smile.
“Conceited?” His eyes widened. “Who says that?”
“My cousins.” She laughed at his dismissive eye roll.
“I’m not conceited,” he scoffed. “I just want to be the best.”
Jasmine’s dark eyes sparkled with knowing, like she could see right through him. “I don’t think that’s it,” she said, smoothas silk. “I think you already think you’re the best, and you want everyone else to know it too.”
His response came out low and flirtatious. “So, you’ve figured me out, Jasmine Lin.”
Her eyes held his, and he could’ve sworn they were full of flames.
“Rodriguez,” she whispered.
“¿Qué?”
She licked her lips. “Jasmine Lin Rodriguez. That’s my full name.”
Before he could talk himself out of it, he took a tremendous chance. “Ángel Luis.”
At her quizzical look, he explained. “My name. It’s not Ashton. It’s Ángel Luis.”
She repeated it, nailing the accent. The sound of his name—his real name—on her lips shot heat through him.
Then she said, “I did wonder where your parents had gotten a name like Ashton from.”
And he laughed, breaking the tension. Tension he had no business encouraging. “They didn’t,” he admitted.
“Part of that big Hollywood goal?”
“Precisely.”
She held up the script. “We’d better work on getting you there, then.”
“Gettingusthere.” He rolled to the end of the counter and picked up his own script. “Where should we begin?”
“You can begin by telling me why you were so preoccupied during the last shoot,” she said, nailing him with a direct look. “I told you my reason.”
He busied himself flipping through the pages and told a half-truth. “My grandfather went to the ER today. I was waiting for news.”
Her face crumpled in concern. “Oh, I’m so sorry. Is everything okay? Is that why you went to Puerto Rico last weekend?”
