To Hate Adam Connor

I’ll admit, I side-eyed the premise at first—*another* grumpy-sunshine romance with a celebrity? But *To Hate Adam Connor* won me over in the first 30 minutes, and it’s all thanks to the narration. Lidia Dornet’s dry, exasperated delivery of the heroine’s internal monologues had me cackling during my commute, while Sebastian York’s Adam is the perfect blend of smug and vulnerable. His voice drops into this low, amused rumble when he’s teasing her, and you *feel* the heroine’s blood pressure spike right alongside yours. The production quality is flawless, with seamless transitions between perspectives and zero distracting background noise—just pure, unfiltered chemistry. That said, the middle act drags slightly with repetitive bickering (yes, we get it, they’re *both* stubborn), and a subplot involving Adam’s ex-wife feels undercooked compared to the main conflict. But the payoff? *Worth it.* The sex scenes sizzle without being purple-prose ridiculous, and the emotional beats land harder than you’d expect for a book this playful. What really stuck with me, though, was how Maise balances humor and heart—this isn’t just a fantasy about bagging a hot actor; it’s about two people who *annoy* each other into growth. If you’re tired of romance heroes who are either alphaholes or golden retrievers, Adam Connor’s particular brand of ‘I know I’m insufferable, and I don’t care’ will feel like a breath of fresh, infuriating air.