The ex id love to hate, p.1
The Ex I'd Love to Hate, page 1
The Ex I’d Love to Hate
Nadia Lee
Table of Contents
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Part 1: The Beginning
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Part 2: The Present
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-One
Chapter Fifty-Two
Chapter Fifty-Three
Chapter Fifty-Four
Chapter Fifty-Five
Chapter Fifty-Six
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Chapter Sixty
Chapter Sixty-One
Chapter Sixty-Two
Chapter Sixty-Three
Titles by Nadia Lee
About Nadia Lee
Copyright
Other Titles by Nadia Lee
Standalone Titles
My Grumpy Billionaire
US :: UK :: Canada :: Australia
Baby for the Bosshole
US :: UK :: Canada :: Australia
Beauty and the Assassin
US :: UK :: Canada :: Australia
Oops I Married a Rock Star
US :: UK :: Canada :: Australia
The Billionaire and the Runaway Bride
US :: UK :: Canada :: Australia
Flirting with the Rock Star Next Door
US :: UK :: Canada :: Australia
Mister Fake Fiancé
US :: UK :: Canada :: Australia
Marrying My Billionaire Hookup
US :: UK :: Canada :: Australia
Faking It with the Frenemy
US :: UK :: Canada :: Australia
Marrying My Billionaire Boss
US :: UK :: Canada :: Australia
Stealing the Bride
US :: UK :: Canada :: Australia
——
The Sins Trilogy
Book 1: Sins
US :: UK :: Canada :: Australia
Book 2: Secrets
US :: UK :: Canada :: Australia
Book 3: Mercy
US :: UK :: Canada :: Australia
——
The Billionaire’s Claim Duet
Book 1: Obsession
US :: UK :: Canada :: Australia
Book 2: Redemption
US :: UK :: Canada :: Australia
——
Sweet Darlings Inc. Series
Book 1: That Man Next Door
US :: UK :: Canada :: Australia
Book 2: That Sexy Stranger
US :: UK :: Canada :: Australia
Book 3: That Wild Player
US :: UK :: Canada :: Australia
——
Billionaires’ Brides of Convenience Series
Book 1: A Hollywood Deal
US :: UK :: Canada :: Australia
Book 2: A Hollywood Bride
US :: UK :: Canada :: Australia
Book 3: An Improper Deal
US :: UK :: Canada :: Australia
Book 4: An Improper Bride
US :: UK :: Canada :: Australia
Book 5: An Improper Ever After
US :: UK :: Canada :: Australia
Book 6: An Unlikely Deal
US :: UK :: Canada :: Australia
Book 7: An Unlikely Bride
US :: UK :: Canada :: Australia
Book 8: A Final Deal
US :: UK :: Canada :: Australia
——
The Pryce Family Series
Book 1: The Billionaire’s Counterfeit Girlfriend
US :: UK :: Canada :: Australia
Book 2: The Billionaire’s Inconvenient Obsession
US :: UK :: Canada :: Australia
Book 3: The Billionaire’s Secret Wife
US :: UK :: Canada :: Australia
Book 4: The Billionaire’s Forgotten Fiancée
US :: UK :: Canada :: Australia
Book 5: The Billionaire’s Forbidden Desire
US :: UK :: Canada :: Australia
Book 6: The Billionaire’s Holiday Bride
US :: UK :: Canada :: Australia
——
Seduced by the Billionaire Series
Book 1: The Billionaire’s Revenge
US :: UK :: Canada :: Australia
Book 2: The Billionaire’s Pursuit
US :: UK :: Canada :: Australia
Book 3: The Billionaire’s Baby
US :: UK :: Canada :: Australia
Book 3.5: The Millionaire’s Crush
US :: UK :: Canada :: Australia
Book 4: The Billionaire’s Secret
US :: UK :: Canada :: Australia
Book 5: The Billionaire’s Scandal
US :: UK :: Canada :: Australia
——
If you want to receive notices about my latest books, please join my VIP List at www.nadialee.net/vip!
To you, for opening this book.
Acknowledgments
When I needed help with the first part of the book, I asked for brave volunteers from my Facebook reader group Nadia Lee’s VIP Hangout. So many raised their hands and generously offered their time. Thank you from the bottom of my heart for your support, ladies! You’re the best!
Also, I’d like to thank the following beta-readers for their amazing feedback:
Mary Lou Alvarez-Garcia
Theressa Baumann
Madelaine De Geest
Mercedes "Sadie" Fonorow
JoHanna Hale
Melena Torretta
You’re awesome.
Part 1: The Beginning
Chapter One
Aspen
I have worked too hard to get to where I am, and nothing’s going to derail my plans, especially not some trust-fund boy born with a silver spoon stuck up his butt!
I march to Professor Taylor’s office after Culture and Music in History to discuss the fact that my project partner, Grant Lasker, hasn’t been to class in weeks. Actually, I don’t think he’s come since the first day. I’ve never met him or spoken to him, but he had to have been there. Students who miss the first day are dropped, and Professor Taylor took attendance by passing out a sheet of paper, asking everyone to write down their name. On the other hand, somebody could’ve done it for him. The class has fifty-eight students—who’d know?
We have four days left until the paper is due. I’ve emailed, texted and even tried to call Grant after getting his number from a guy in the class who took pity on me. Grant wasn’t my first choice, but when Professor Taylor asked us to pair up, I was the only one without a partner. And Grant was the only one available, since he was absent. Again. Professor Taylor told me we were to do our paper on the tango and its impact on modern culture, while scrunching his face in distaste like he couldn’t believe he was throwing pearls in front of swine.
With my other professors, I’d assume I was the pearl and Grant the swine. But it’s hard to tell with Taylor. He shows overt annoyance every time I ask a question in class. He seems to believe that I’m challenging his authority with my questions, when all I want is clarification and deeper explanation. This is a 300-level college course, not high-school-level music appreciation, but he treats it like a kindergarten music class.
I check my phone again. Nothing from Grant. Damn him. That lazy jerk has ignored all my attempts to get in touch. He isn’t avoiding me because he thinks I’m one of those girls who drools over him like a starved dog over a bone. I made it crystal clear in my subject lines that I only want to see him about the project we’re doing for class.
He probably doesn’t care if he flunks the course. But I do. I have to maintain a 3.5 GPA or better to continue to receive my scholarships. Unlike him, I wasn’t born with a moneyed mommy and daddy. Actually, I don’t have any parents, rich or otherwise. And I couldn’t bear the thought of asking my grandparents to dip into their retirement savings because I couldn’t keep my grades up. They’ve already done so much.
There’s nobody out
“Come in.”
I push the door open, resulting in a hair-raising creak. Professor Taylor peers at me over his round, gold-rimmed glasses with disapproval—like it’s my fault the hinges need oil. I clear my throat and shut the door, wincing as it creaks again. But I don’t want anyone overhearing our conversation and creating unnecessary drama.
Professor Taylor sighs, but doesn’t say anything. He’s in his mid-thirties, his hair slicked back with wax. He’s clean-shaven except for a mustache a shade darker than his chestnut hair. I’ve never seen him in anything but a suit and a tie, but they aren’t your standard academia outfit—staid and serious. Today, his jacket and pants are azure, his shirt lemon cream.
He doesn’t bother to offer me a seat, although there are three empty chairs. He merely steeples his long fingers, which remind me of spider legs. As he studies me, his eyes narrow, as though he’s just thought of something unpleasant.
“Alisha, what can I do for you?” he says finally.
“Um…actually, I’m Aspen Hughes.”
Three lines create deep gorges between his eyebrows. “I see. Thank you for that important correction.” His tone says it was anything but. “What is it you need?” His voice is colder now.
Despite the annoyance bristling in every syllable, I remind myself I did nothing wrong by telling him my name. “I need to talk to you about my group assignment.”
“It’s still due in four days,” he says thinly.
“Yes, I know. I need to talk to you about my partner.”
He waves a hand, gesturing for me to go ahead.
“I’m paired with Grant Lasker, but I haven’t seen him in class, and he isn’t responding to my emails or texts. I tried calling, but he’s ignoring me.”
His well-trimmed eyebrows jump an inch up his wide forehead. “And what do you suppose I should do about that?”
I pause for a second, stunned by his reaction. I thought he would at least show some concern over the fact that my partner is ghosting me. Not to mention, is he not bothered that Grant’s been missing his class?
I struggle to figure out what to say for a moment, then finally manage, “I was wondering if you could let me do it by myself.”
Haughty annoyance twists Professor Taylor’s face. “Aspen, it is your job to do this assignment with your partner. You’re in college. You should know better than to run to your professors every time you can’t get what you want. Maybe you should try to track down Grant yourself, and talk to him about the assignment. Being able to work together effectively is a large part of the grade.”
I can’t believe this. “So you want me to chase after Grant all over campus?”
He looks at me. “That would seem to be the inference. Unless you don’t mind getting an F on the assignment.”
Okay, I’m not going to get any help. “I see.”
I turn around to leave. What a jerk. I wish I could drop the course, but it fulfills two of the academic requirements I need to graduate—three credits each from social sciences and historical studies. There aren’t many classes that do both.
This time, I open the door with more force than needed. The hinges shriek in protest. Not caring, I shut the door just as carelessly, and its screech makes the hair on the back of my neck bristle.
It’s my little revenge against Professor Taylor. Asshole. He didn’t have to be so unsympathetic and rude.
As I walk down the hallway, I text Grant again.
–Me: This is Aspen from the Culture and Music in History class. We really do need to talk about our assignment. Are you available anytime soon? It’s due in four days!
I wait a few heartbeats. Nothing. I check my inbox. Nada there. I’m pretty sure at least one of my emails has reached his inbox. Just in case, I sent him emails using multiple accounts.
Bastard!
–Me: If I get an F because of you, I’m going to kick your ass!
Texting that little threat feels good, but it’s not going to be effective. There can’t be any ass kicking if I can’t find him!
As much as I hate Professor Taylor’s attitude, I have no choice but to track Grant down. He can’t ignore me if I show up in person and demand that he pull his weight on the project.
Assuming I can find out where he is.
I’m not part of his social circle, which is mainly kids with wealthy parents. The rumor is that even though he parties all night and sleeps all day, professors give him A’s anyway because his parents are important. But I don’t know how much of that is true, since not all the staff are like Professor Taylor. From what I overheard, Grant’s mom is a famous photographer and his dad is some hotshot movie producer in Hollywood. Every girl on campus thinks he’s God’s personal gift to them, and every guy wants to be him.
I snort. They only care about him because of his incredibly cool parents. And if there’s any justice in the world, he’ll be short, ugly and smelly.
I open one of the social media apps, and go into the group for my graduating class. I type:
Has anybody seen Grant Lasker recently?]
As soon as I hit post, a photo from another girl pops up on my feed. It’s of some guys on horses. Her post reads:
#Polo #Hot
She’s tagged all the players. I see Grant Lasker in bold.
Yes! I delete my post and look up where the polo team practices. The field is forty minutes from the campus. If I leave now, I might be able to catch him.
I start huffing as I dash across campus to the student parking garage. God, I’m out of shape, but I pump my legs faster. There’s no way I’m missing my delinquent partner.
I locate my ten-year-old blue Mazda3, hop in, dump my backpack on the passenger seat and peel out.
The two-lane road to the polo field cuts through several large vineyards. So much green, stretching away like God shook out a blanket of landscape and left it rumpled before the wine growers came in and arranged everything into orderly rows. And so much blue above—the sky is cloudless, the weather absolutely perfect, giving me a little pang of missing sunny SoCal. But unlike in L.A., the roads here aren’t congested. I see all of three other cars along the way.
About thirty minutes later, I pull into a large lot with several gleaming sports cars and sedans from luxury European manufacturers. My unwashed and unwaxed car stands out like a homeless child at a fancy ball.
The huge rectangular blue and green sign in front reads:
Napa Polo and Equestrian Club
To all visitors,
Welcome to our lovely club!
I climb out of the car, trying to shake off a vague sense of unease and shame over how I don’t fit in, despite the sign. I’m not going to be poor forever. Napa Aquinas College isn’t just a place for me to chill out and discover myself before I get out into the world and have to start adulting. It’s a stepping stone to the bigger and better things I’ve planned for my future. A fabulous job, and a comfortable and stable life. So long as I work hard, everything is within reach.
Beyond the parking lot is a white two-story building by a huge field. Shaded stands spread out on each side of the building, and pristine ivory tables with matching parasols dot the white metal fence that encircles a massive outdoors area.
The polo team is easy to spot. They’re on the gigantic ground—almost ten times the size of a football field—and making enough noise to rouse the deceased. Eight players on sleek horses gallop back and forth in groups.
I straighten my back and start toward the white metal fence. Several girls from the school are seated at the tables, their designer sunglasses covering their expertly made-up faces. Pitchers with iced drinks sweat on the tabletops.
One of them says something, and there’s laughter. I wince inwardly at an exceptionally high-pitched giggle. Sadie Woodward. The bane of my existence.
The college paired us as roommates our freshman year, when we all had to live in on-campus housing. She wanted to trade me for Bronte, one of her best friends, but without my agreement, she couldn’t. And I wasn’t going to agree, especially since Sadie wanted me to take Bronte’s room. Bronte’s dorm was old, away from the main campus and had subpar plumbing that everyone knew about. The joke is that the boys can’t poop there because it’ll clog the pipes.
