My name is Faith Parisi and I love my life. I have the best job as a regular consultant to Visage magazine's sex column, I have the best friends, and I live in the best city in the world. Everything is fucking amazing. That is, it was amazing until Henry "Harry" Sinclair III burst into my world like a bad case of herpes. I hate the way Harry's lips curl up in contempt when he looks at me. I hate his bright blue eyes and those inexplicably offensive dimples. I hate his pompous British accent and the stick that is constantly sticking out of his aristocratic ass. And more than anything, I hate that he is now my boss. But my professional prospects begin to flicker on the horizon when the chance to write a big summer article for. Visage falls on me as if from the sky. It will be very difficult to achieve success. I will have to throw away all my inhibitions (not that I have many of them) and jump, straight into stilettos, into this new hedonistic world, this exclusive, secret world filled. leather, latex and the Manhattan elite. To cope with all this, I will need every ounce of courage I have and all my attention. I cannot afford to be distracted by anything, especially my new boss, his arrogant lips or. the way the ice between us seems to be slowly melting...