Max Monroe

Taming Hollywood's Baddest Boy Max Monroe

Do people say they hate someone's guts so that they can still fall stupidly, head-over-heels in love with the other parts? I'm begging you to tell me that the practice of falling in love with your should-be-enemy is common. Please tell me that I'm not the only person to track down a guy--who used to be Hollywood's baddest bad boy before he left LA for good--at his off-the-grid cabin in Alaska, show up unannounced, and find him gloriously naked. This probably happens all the time . . . right? Tell me I'm not alone in my stupidity--that I'm not the only woman who would fall for gorgeous blue eyes and a sexy devilish smirk, even if they belong to a broody, mysterious jerk. For the love of everything, I need all the supportive girl power I can get if I'm going to convince Luca Weaver to come back to Hollywood--otherwise known as the place he hates so much that he ghosted Oscar-level success and escaped to no-man's-land for the last eight years just to avoid it. Yeah, don't worry--that smoke you're smelling isn't your house catching fire as you read this . . . it's just my career and what was previously known as my heart going up in flames. Contains mature themes.