Malcolm Saint had me in a chokehold by hour two and I'm not even sorry about it.
I was deep-cleaning my apartment at 11pm on a Tuesday—because apparently that's what we do when we're avoiding feelings—when I started this sequel. Frida was judging me from the couch, Diego was somewhere being chaotic, and I had my earbuds in while scrubbing grout like my life depended on it. By the time Rachel was spiraling about whether she'd destroyed everything with Malcolm, I'd abandoned the cleaning supplies entirely and was just... sitting on my bathroom floor. Listening. Feeling attacked.
When Your Heart and Your Head Won't Shut Up
Here's the thing about Manwhore +1 that got me: it's not just about getting the guy back. It's about trust. Real, messy, terrifying trust. Rachel betrayed Malcolm in book one (journalist exposing billionaire, you know the drill), and this entire book is her trying to prove she's worthy of a second chance while also wrestling with her own self-worth. As someone who's been the person trying to earn forgiveness? This book felt like looking in a mirror I didn't ask for.
Katy Evans does this thing where Rachel's internal monologue walks the line between relatable insecurity and "girl, please love yourself." Some listeners found her thoughts self-deprecating and cringey, and okay, I get it. That same kind of raw, messy internal struggle shows up in When She Woke, though in a much darker context. There are moments where Rachel's obsessive thinking made me want to shake her through my earbuds. But also? That's how anxiety works, especially when you've genuinely messed up and you're watching the person you love try to decide if you're worth the risk. It's not pretty. It's not empowering. It's real.
The chemistry between Rachel and Malcolm though? Chef's kiss. The man is possessive in that way that should be a red flag but instead just made me need to pause and fan myself while pretending to check my phone. Abuela would have clutched her rosary AND kept listening. I know this because I inherited her exact energy.
Grace Grant and the Male Voice Situation
Let's talk about Grace Grant's narration, because it's a mixed bag and I want to be honest. Her emotional delivery? Genuinely good. When Rachel is falling apart or fighting for what she wants, Grant's voice carries that desperation, that hope, that fear. She handles the humor well too—there's a lightness when the story needs it that kept me from drowning in angst.
But. The male voices. Look, I've listened to enough romance audiobooks to know that male character voices are the great equalizer. Some narrators nail them, some... don't. Grant falls into the "adequate but not strong" category. Malcolm Saint is supposed to be this magnetic, powerful, devastatingly attractive man, and sometimes his voice just sounds like Rachel doing a slightly lower register. It didn't ruin the experience for me, but it did pull me out of a few steamy moments.
Also—and this is petty but I'm saying it—she pronounces "urgh" as "urg" and once I noticed it, I couldn't un-notice it. Small thing. Also the kind of thing that lives rent-free in your brain.
This Is a Rainy Sunday Book
Manwhore +1 is almost ten hours of second-chance romance, and it wants you to feel every single one of those hours. The pacing isn't breakneck; it's more of a slow simmer with bursts of heat. Some listeners complained about the pace, and I understand—if you're looking for constant action, this isn't it. But if you want to marinate in feelings? In the will-they-won't-they-again tension? In watching two people circle each other because they're both terrified of being hurt?
This is your book.
I listened at my usual 1.0x because I was savoring, and honestly, I'd recommend the same. There's something about letting the emotional beats land at their intended rhythm that makes the payoff sweeter.
Who Needs This (and Who Should Skip)
If you loved book one and need to know how Rachel earns Malcolm back, you're going to devour this. If you're into possessive billionaire heroes who are secretly soft for one woman, same. If you want a heroine who's messy and imperfect and trying her best? Welcome.
Skip if internal monologue-heavy romance makes you want to scream, or if weak male character voices in audiobooks are a dealbreaker—maybe read the physical book instead. Several listeners mentioned preferring to read rather than listen for exactly this reason.
Crying on My Bathroom Floor (A Love Story)
I cried. Of course I cried. Not the ugly-sobbing kind (that's reserved for books that truly wreck me), but the quiet tears of watching someone fight for love they're not sure they deserve. The kind that sneak up on you while you're supposedly cleaning your bathroom at midnight. Lincoln Highway gave me that same sneaky emotional punch—different story entirely, but the same way of making you feel things you didn't see coming.
This book felt like a warm blanket wrapped around anxiety. It's not perfect—the pacing drags in spots, Rachel's self-doubt occasionally tips into frustrating territory, and I wish Grant's male voices hit harder. But the core of it? The messy, hopeful, terrifying act of trusting someone with your heart again?
That landed. Right in my chest. Where it still kind of lives.
Frida and Diego remain unimpressed. But they're cats. They don't understand romance.
