Today is the blog tour for Hate the Player by Max Monroe. Hate the Player is an all-new enemies to lovers romantic comedy from New York Times bestselling author Max Monroe!
Title: Hate the Player
Author: Max Monroe
Series: standalone
Genres: Contemporary Romance
Links:
Blurb:
โRoses are red, violets are blue, stay away from Andrew Watsonโs *ahem* because no other women ever do.โ
Thatโs quite the way to start a conversation at a casual lunch, huh? Grilled chicken, French fries, and pelvic-fatigue, oh my!
And thatโs not even the worst of it.
My friend Raquel didnโt pull any punches when she warned me about my brand-new costar and his notoriously player-esque ways. Apparently, my most important mission on my first role in a feature film is to stay immune to his charms.
Are you kidding me? Production costs on this movie are in the hundreds of thousands a day, and staying away from a panty-whispering, vajayjay-charmer is supposed to be at the top of my list? Pfft. Puh-lease.
It doesnโt matter that heโs annoyingly attractive, uber rich, crazy famous, and lusted after by ninety percent of the female population; Andrew Watson is trouble with a capital Tโespecially for a woman like me.
As a preventative measure, Iโve decided to go ahead and hate him.
Donโt worry, you guys, Iโm completely in control. Thereโs absolutely no way Iโm going to do something stupid like fall in love with him.
I can hate the player but still secretly love his addictive game.
Iโm sure of it.
Excerpt:
Birdie
True to my name, Iโm about to take fucking flight. At least, I would if I could.
In this moment, it really would have been helpful if my trainer hadnโt successfully eliminated all the extra flappy meat on my upper arms. Surely, if I got them going fast enough, the wind beneath those bat wings could have carried me up and through the ceiling of this place.
Cโmon, you big baby, I coach myself. You can do this.
One cavernous breath into my lungs and then another and another, and eventually, just before my vision turns tunneled, I will my feet to move away from the door.
Gleaming marble floors, golden statues, and a freaking fountain in the center, the lobby of Capo Brothers Studios is everything I should have expected and more.
If everything is bigger in Texas, then everything is most certainly richer in LA.
I check in with security quickly, my voice only a little croaky thanks to the frog in my throat, and head for the elevator bank at the far side of the lobby.
Iโm to head to the fifteenth floor, Iโm told, and then go straight down the hall to the glass doors on the left at the end. There, Iโll find William Capoโs officeโthe head honcho and only surviving brother of Capo Brothers.
My cowgirl boots are noisy on the marble floors when I do as instructed. The sound you make when you walk is such a small detailโone I donโt normally think aboutโbut the echo of their clack today makes my heart feel like itโs knocking into my rib cage and each step across the ornate floor is merely a sound effect.
Fifteen floors eclipse quicklyโclearly, theyโve spared no expense on their elevatorโand the hallway that leads to Williamโs office seems strangely one-directional. Like once I go down itโonce I take this stepโthere will be no going back. Which is probably why, after forcing myself to go the distance to the end, I pause at the open door, the points of my booted toes just shy of crossing the line.
โGood morning.โ A pretty assistant dressed in a white power suit greets me before Iโve even cleared the threshold of the door, and all thoughts of escape are dashed. Like it or not, Iโve just been shoved over the line. I will my feet to do the same as she continues to speak. โCan I help you?โ
โIโm Birdie Harris,โ I answer and have to swallow hard against the dryness threatening to close my throat. โI have an audition.โ
My nerves are so obvious, the assistant offers a sympathetic smile.
If she were from my childhood hometown in West Virginia, sheโd most likely be thinking Bless her heart.
She taps something across the keyboard of her iMac and places her hand to the Bluetooth at her ear. โMr. Capo, I have Birdie Harris here.โ Immediately, she looks away from the computer and meets my eyes. โTheyโll be ready for you shortly. You can take a seat over there.โ She points behind me, back through the door and across the hall to what Iโm assuming is a fancy-schmancy waiting room of some sort. I havenโt encountered a place in the building that doesnโt have some sort of gilded or marble inlay, so I highly doubt Iโm going to step through that door and into a room styled by the set designer for Saw. Though, I canโt say some sort of torture device wouldnโt be completely misplaced right now. Iโm already doing a pretty good job of mentally waterboarding myself with worry.
I offer a little nod, keeping my twisted, sicko thoughts to myself. I doubt theyโre interested in hiring a woman on the brink of a hysterical episode.
The secretary quirks a brow, and I realize, though Iโve nodded my affirmation of understanding, Iโve yet to move.
Good God, Birdie! Go sit down.
Annoyed with myself, I turn on my boots and march across the hall so violently, itโs like thereโs an invisible person helping me along with a heavy hand at the nape of my neck.
When I cross into the room, a man is sitting on a swanky leather sofa with his booted feet up on the coffee table. He glances up briefly before returning his eyes to the phone in his lap. Embarrassed, I smooth my clomps instantly.
Youโre a gazelle, Birdie, not a herd of buffalo, I coach. Move like it.
With his attention occupied, I survey him more closely as I move to take a seat across from him. Heโs wearing jeans and a plain white T-shirt, and his jawline would make steel beams look weak. Seriously. Confronted with an earthquake, I would seek shelter right under the eave of his jaw.
Iโd love to get another peek at his eyes just to study the color, but fearing the eye contact that would require, Iโm careful not to make any overt noises that might draw his attention again.
When he smirks, a devilish proposition-like smile at the screen of his phone, I donโt have to wonder anymore.
Oh no. I know exactly who this man is.
Andrew Watson.
The very man Rocky warned me about and I subsequently Instagram stalked. A laundry list of different women dotted through his timeline, it confirmed everything Rocky told me and then some.
All relaxed and cool, he sits on the white leather sofa with one arm outstretched across the back. Confidence and charm ooze from every freaking cell in his body. No doubt, Andrew Watson is more than capable of commanding the attention of everyone in the room, no matter the situation.
No wonder heโs one of Hollywoodโs most famous actors.
The only time I have that kind of quiet confidence is when Iโm onstage, singing my songs, lost in the music I created.
Just play it cool, Birdie.
On a deep breath, I force the uncertainty and unease out of my shoulders and settle my ass into the sofa across from him. He shifts again, crossing one ankle over the other and casually adjusting the denim at his crotch.
My eyes are immediately drawn to his bulge, and thanks to Rockyโs colorful descriptions of his favorite appendage, a little penis-shaped soldier is burned in my brain. After a few seconds of imagining the shape of his helmet and intensity of his salute, I jerk my gaze away in a panic.
Jesus. As if this audition wasnโt screwing with my head enough! Now I have Saving Ryanโs Privates, a military-themed porno my head just made up starring Staff Sergeant Dick Richardson, complicating things even more!
I must make a noise I donโt realizeโthe sound of my saliva gurgling in my throat while I choke on it, perhapsโbecause Andrew looks at me with curious eyes. I try like hell to keep my calm and act like I havenโt just gone to mental war with the soldier in his pants, but thereโs only so much hysteria containment my mind is capable of.
โUhโฆhi,โ I say, trying so dang hard not to glance back down at his crotch that I start spewing diarrhea of the mouth about goddamn military-themed movies. โI never saw A Few Good Men, but I hear Tom Cruise was good in it.โ When I realize what Iโve just said makes absolutely no sense to himโpunctuated perfectly by his eyebrows drawing together noticeablyโthe gurgling saliva turns into a full-blown choke, and suddenly, the only way to breathe is through a hacking cough.
Holy shit, Iโm too anxious to be around other humans right now! Also, Iโm going to kill Rocky for putting this crap in my head about this guyโs penis.
โAre you okay?โ he asks, and I hold up my hand in some kind of gesture. Iโm not sure of its technical name, but its meaning is clearโplease forget I exist right now.
He asks me once more, but I nod, and once the embarrassing coughing fit passes, I meet his piercingly gray-blue eyesโseeing their color is strikingly unavoidable nowโand I offer a halfhearted smile.
โSorry,โ I apologize. I didnโt mean to drag him into an impromptu SNL sketch where I choke on spit and say ridiculously inappropriate, off-the-wall things. โI guess you could say Iโm a little nervous.โ
His responding smile gleams so bright, I have to wonder if he has an endorsement deal with Crest toothpaste. His mouth would make a dental hygienist get on their hands and knees and thank the Lord above.
โDonโt worry, sweetheart. Thereโs no need to be nervous around me,โ he responds, punctuating his words with a wink.
If my mind were a screenplay, the nerves would be exiting stage left.
Did he seriously just wink at me after assuming that Iโm nervous to be in his presence?
Surely, Iโm hearing this wrong. No one is that obsessed with themselvesโฆright?
โExcuse me?โ I ask, and his megawatt smile is still ever-present.
โIf youโd like me to sign an autograph or take a selfie with you,โ he enunciates slowly, as if my being able to understand him clearly was the problem. โI can probably sneak that in before I have to head in there.โ
His autograph? You have got to be kidding me. He sure is a cocky bastardโand for the first time today, Iโm not even talking about his dick.
Like the tip of a match being swiped across the edge of a matchbook, aggravation bursts into my veins.
โIโm here for an audition,โ I assert.
Unfazed, he quirks a brow as if to say, my invitation for an autograph still stands.
Attractive or not, this guy is one of the biggest asses Iโve ever been around.
โIโm Birdie Harris. Iโm auditioning for the role of Arizona Lee.โ
And Iโll be damned if Iโm not gonna land this acting gig just to spite this prick.
About the Author:
A duo of romance authors team up under the New York Times and USA Today Bestselling pseudonym Max Monroe to bring you sexy, laugh-out-loud reads.
Max Monroe is the New York Times and USA Today Bestselling author of more than ten contemporary romance titles. Favorite writing partners and long time friends, Max and Monroe strive to live and write all the fun, sexy swoon so often missing from their Facebook newsfeed. Sarcastic by nature, their two writing souls feel like theyโve found their other half. This is their most favorite adventure thus far.
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