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.
