The Way I Hate Him

by Meghan Quinn

Genres: Romantic Comedy

Synopsis

From USA Today and Amazon Charts bestselling author Meghan Quinn, comes a new standalone age-gap rom-com featuring a new cast of characters that will immediately have you hooked. This steamy, laugh out loud, enemies-to-lovers small town romance delivers the perfect happily ever after every romance lover craves.

Why am I holding a box of stolen memorabilia in my arms? It's called . . . revenge.

After failing my last semester of grad school, I decided to come back to my hometown and wallow in my boyfriend’s sympathetic arms. Instead, he proceeded to dump me . . . for being boring!

Now, I'm not typically a spiteful person, but there's only so much I can take. Hence why I’m holding the box of his most cherished possessions…stolen possessions no less!

The plan? To give the box back to its rightful owner and rat my ex out. How’s that for being boring?

But plans never go the way you want them, because instead of dropping off the box with a note, I’m pinned with the crime by the true owner of the box himself.

Hayes Farrow is grumpy, arrogant, and stupidly hot in a way that makes it hard to even look him in the eye. Not to mention he’s my brother’s nemesis so I fully intended to stay far far away from the gorgeous jerk.

But to add insult to the injury that has become my life as of late, Hayes gives me two options: turn me into the police and press full charges . . . or work it off. How could I possibly work for someone I can't stand? Easy, I don't look good in orange.

But working for Hayes isn't as horrible as I thought it would be. The way I hate him begins to turn into something else - something I never thought I'd feel. But the way my brother reacts when he finds out I’m working for his enemy? He’d prefer me in prison orange.

 

Read more

Release date: August 1, 2023

Print pages: 557

Sample

PROLOGUE

**HAYES**

“How good are you at giving head?”
The girl straddling my lap, tits bouncing in my face, a G-string being the only thing on her body,
leans in with a smirk. “I’ve never had any complaints.”
I wet my lips and rest my head against the back of the couch. “Show me.”
A half-empty tequila bottle is on the coffee table in front of us, salt is sprinkled all over, and her tits
are still wet from where I was licking the salt off. Lime wedges are scattered along the floor with her
clothes and my shirt.
And . . . I’m not really feeling it.
Fuck, what’s her name again?
I know she told me . . .
Kendall?
Kinsey?
Kaliope?
She scoots off my lap and kneels between my legs. Before she can undo my pants, I ask, “What’s
your name again?”
Her big blue eyes stare up at me, and she seductively says, “Tara.”
Tara?

Oh fuck, I was way off.
A snort pops out of me because, Jesus, I couldn’t have been more wrong.
“Is there something wrong with my name?” she asks, sitting back on her heels.
“No.” I shake my head.
“Then why are you laughing?”
Yeah, dickhead, why are you laughing?
“Your hands tickled my dick,” I say because hell, I’m drunk and can barely hold it together. Her
brow rises, and yeah, I realize the truth is probably better. “I thought your name was Kendall. I wasn’t
close to guessing it correctly.”
Her brow pulls together with disdain. “Who the hell is Kendall?”
“You got me,” I say just as a knock sounds on my door, and my agent pops his head in. “Dude,” I
say, gesturing to Kendall . . . I mean, Tara. Jesus Christ.
Ruben winces. “I have to talk to you.”
“It’s fine,” Tara says as she grabs her dress and stands. “I was leaving.”
My dick wants me to protest, but I don’t have it in me, so I watch as she slips her dress over her
head, shimmying it over her large tits. Such a shame. I would have had fun with her.
But I’ll tell you one thing—I’m never fucking desperate for pussy. Ever.
I’m not the begging kind.
So if she wants to leave, I won’t stop her.
And from the pause at the door and the glance over her shoulder at me, I know she wants me to
stop her, to beg her to stay. Sorry, not going to fucking happen.
I lift two fingers to my forehead and offer a salute, causing her brows to turn down.
“You’re an ass,” she says as she pushes past Ruben and leaves.
Yeah, tell me something I don’t know.

I lean forward with my elbows on my thighs as Ruben shuts the door to my dressing room and
straightens his tie. The man is a killer in negotiations and the smartest man I know, but he’s a goddamn
dweeb. It’s not the first time he’s walked in on me with a girl, and it won’t be the last, yet he still has the
same nauseous and uncomfortable look.
I pour myself another shot of tequila but then lift the bottle to inspect it. We didn’t drink that
much. “Fuck.” I sigh. “I think Matt’s stealing from me.”
Ruben steps closer and picks my shirt up off the ground. He folds it and gently sets it on the coffee
table. “Your assistant?”
“Yeah,” I answer. “Things keep going missing, and he’s the only one besides you allowed in my
private space.” I lift an eyebrow. “Unless you’re stealing from me?”
Utter shock and disgust cross Ruben’s face. “You . . . you can’t be serious.” He tugs on the cuffs of
his paisley button-up shirt. “I would never—”
“I’m kidding, Ruben.” I toss the shot back and then lean against the couch again. “What’s up?”
“Two things,” he says, holding his fingers up. “Carlton called and wants to know when to expect the
next album.” I roll my eyes.
“Jesus Christ, I told him he’ll get it when he gets it. I’m just finishing up his goddamn tour.”
“That’s what I told him, but since you’ve recently gone viral again, he wants to capitalize on that.”
“I’m sure he does,” I say. “Well, I have nothing, so he’ll be waiting a while.”
“Not even a single?”
“Ruben.” I stand from the couch and snag the shirt he folded. “You know me better than anyone,
do you think I have a single up my sleeve I can just release?”
“Didn’t think so, but I thought I’d check.” I slip my shirt on. “What would you like me to tell
Carlton?”
“I’m working on it.”

“Are you?” he asks.
“Nope,” I answer, picking up my faded gray baseball hat. “But I will.” After slipping it on backward, I
grab my phone and place it in my pocket. “What’s the second thing?”
Ruben hesitates. “Abel called.”
That makes me pause and turn toward Ruben. “Why?”
“Your grandma fell again, fractured her hip. She’s been asking for you. She thinks this is the end.”
“She thinks every day is the end,” I say.
Ruben keeps me from moving toward the door when he says, “Abel thinks she really misses you
and will say anything to get you home.” Ruben sighs. “I think you need to go back to Almond Bay.”
Ahh . . . fuck.

 

CHAPTER ONE

**HATTIE**

“This is humiliating,” I say as I closely approach the place I grew up.
“Listen, no one knows that you failed your last semester. We went over this. You’re taking some
time off,” my best friend Maggie says through the car speakers. “Earning a master’s degree isn’t easy.”
“Says who? It’s just like earning your bachelor’s.”
“I’m trying to help you out. Why won’t you let me do that?”
“Because you’re bullshitting me,” I say with a sigh. “God, Maggie, I don’t want to be here.”
“I told you, you could stay with me.”
“In your San Francisco studio apartment where you sleep on a futon because you’d rather have
space for your thriving business?”
Yup, my best friend, Maggie, has a thriving wedding planning business. She’s been featured in many
bridal magazines and is fully booked until next year. She’s been interviewed by a few key celebrities in
the Bay Area who might just throw her business into the big leagues.
And she’s only twenty-three.
And then there’s me. Not that we should compare ourselves, but it’s hard not to when I see her
living her dream, and I’m still trying to obtain a master’s in business management but flunking out.
What am I going to do with that degree? I have no idea . . . manage a business?
God, I’m so fucked.
“The futon is my friend,” Maggie says. “And I told you it folds out. There’s nothing like a good
snuggle at night.”

“Not happening. Anyway, I haven’t seen Matt in a while. He’s returning from tour, and it would be
good to rekindle our love.”
“Rekindle your love . . . You know, I’m in the business of love, and even hearing you say that is
making me gag.”
“What do you want me to say? Fuck on every surface?”
“Ew, is that what you’re going to do?”
“Ew? Why did you say ew?” I ask.
“Because Matt gives me the ick. You could do so much better than him.”
“So you’ve said,” I say with a sigh as I turn onto Almond Ave, aka the main street of Almond Bay,
California.
Population 3,239, Almond Bay is on the Northern Californian coast, right above the not-so-famous
bay in the shape of an almond. With one whole stoplight in town, we’re best known as the birthplace
and hometown of the great Ethel O’Donnell-Kerr. Haven’t heard of her? Shame on you. Once a bright
Broadway star notorious for her renowned leading role in Annie Get Your Gun, she spent over thirty-five
years on stage and is now the proud owner of our town inn, Five Six Seven Eight. The unofficial town
mayor, she makes it her business to know everyone else’s business and then selectively spreads the
news according to what the news is. Not to mention, she’s the community event coordinator, therefore
constantly puts on plays, dances, and activities to keep the town together. She’s exhausting.
But most importantly, Ethel O’Donnell-Kerr is the matron of the Peach Tribe.
If you look at Almond Bay from above, the roads connect like an A and have four corners on each
end of town. Members of the Peach Tribe own these four corners. Let me break it down for you:
As you know, Ethel O’Donnell-Kerr owns Five Six Seven Eight. Located in the southeast part of town
next to the cliffs that overlook the ocean. Beautiful location.

Second is Dr. Elizabeth Gomez’s veterinary clinic. She’s the loving, kindhearted lady who you’ll find
rolling around in the town’s park with any animal that approaches her. The nicest of the four, her clinic
is situated in the southwest part of town, right next to the post office and the pharmacy/doctor’s office.
Third is Coleman’s General Store, owned by Dee Dee Coleman in the northeast part of town. The
general store has been passed down from generation to generation, and with every generation, it’s
been given a makeover. It currently has immaculate hardwood floors and beautiful shelving stockpiled
with everything you might need. Dee Dee sets the gold standard of what’s to be expected from the store
owners in town.
And last, By the Slice in the town’s northwest, next to the drive-in theater—which is subsequently
owned by all four members of the Peach Tribe. Keesha Johnson is the owner of By the Slice, the pizza
shop here in town. Known best for the dip varieties offered for her crisp crust, they range from ranch to
honey to something a touch spicier. She has brought in multiple Food Network shows to try her pizza,
which has put Almond Bay on the map as a food destination. We don’t say that around Ethel, though,
because as you know . . . Ethel is the main attraction.
These four cornerstones are the holy grail of Almond Bay as well as their owners. They decide
what’s allowed in town, hold every business to a high standard, and keep the residents in check.
And why are they called the Peach Tribe when clearly our town has gone all in on almonds?
Because the cornerstones of our town, the holy grail of women, are all lesbians, and that’s what they
decided to call themselves.
I’m here for it.
“You’re seriously going to stay with him?” Maggie asks, clearly disgusted with me.
Matt isn’t that bad.
Sure, he’s had his quirks, and it would be nice if he acknowledged me more when he’s on tour. And
maybe he forgot about my birthday once, but people get busy. I once forgot to tell him how much I liked

his new Nikes when he sent me a picture, and according to him, I committed a sin. So we all apparently
make mistakes.
“He’s my boyfriend, so . . . yeah, I’ll stay with him.”
“Or, hear me out. You go to his place, break up with him, and seek refuge somewhere else, like . . .
oh, I don’t know . . . Hayes Farrow’s house?”
“Maggie,” I groan, fiercely annoyed with the mention of Hayes. The moment she found out I lived in
the same town as the one . . . the only . . . Hayes Farrow—breaker of hearts and delicious
musician—she’s been clawing at me to go see him. “How many times do I have to tell you? We hate the
man, according to my brother, and if anything, I’m a well-trusted sibling who will hate the people my
sibling hates. Plus, Hayes Farrow is a giant dick.”
“Oooo, I bet he has a giant dick.” She never gives up. “And tell me this, if you’re supposed to hate
him, how come I hear you listening to his music all the time?”
All the time is a bit of a stretch, but . . . *raises hand* guilty.
I might not like the guy. He might be one of the biggest assholes I know, and even though he was
born and raised in Almond Bay as well, I refuse to acknowledge he’s more famous than Ethel O’Donnell-
Kerr—even though he is—because where she has class and pizzazz, he has a backward hat and a grumpy
scowl.
But with all that said, I can’t help but like his music. He has this sultry, seventies rock vibe which is
my favorite genre of all time. He did a cover of Heart’s “Barracuda” that made my nipples hard. And
thanks to the fact that he likes to wear these low V-cut shirts during his concerts showcasing the
apparent muscles he’s grown over the past few years, he’s become a total heartthrob, filling up every
social media platform with videos, pictures, interviews . . . and thirst traps. Even Maggie was drooling
over a few collages she found on Instagram. To my dismay, she even reposted them on her stories.
You can’t escape him. He’s everywhere. ...