Finn Christensen doesn’t do feelings. He doesn’t do relationships. When he has an itch to scratch, there are always clubs and hook-ups. Quick, dirty encounters in dark places that feed the need that brews in the pit in his stomach. He works every hour of the day as the front office manager for the Clouds Westminster Hotel in central London. He’s a good boss, and he knows his shit. Then Mark Quinton swans in like he owns the bloody place, and Finn’s carefully managed world starts to fall apart. Mark Quinton is impulsive and stupid and childish. He’s the last...

Finn Christensen doesn’t do feelings. He doesn’t do relationships. When he has an itch to scratch, there are always clubs and hook-ups. Quick, dirty encounters in dark places that feed the need that brews in the pit in his stomach. He works every hour of the day as the front office manager for the Clouds Westminster Hotel in central London. He’s a good boss, and he knows his shit. Then Mark Quinton swans in like he owns the bloody place, and Finn’s carefully managed world starts to fall apart. Mark Quinton is impulsive and stupid and childish. He’s the last person in the world who should be allowed to run the food and beverage department at the Clouds Westminster, however many brilliant ideas he has and somehow miraculously pulls off. He needs…something. He needs Finn Christensen. It’s a match made in hell. A recipe for disaster. There will be a bloodbath one day. They both know that. Everyone knows.