Richie Malone, a struggling writer with two mediocre novels behind him, is having a mid-life crisis.
When his partner of ten years leaves him for another woman on his fiftieth birthday, he turns to Internet dating and embarks on a spree of affairs.
In an effort to unlock the inspiration to complete his third book, he finds himself in hazardous but electrifying relationships with five different women.
Freed from his mundanely dull former existence, he soon becomes addicted to serial dating and his new adrenalin-fuelled rollercoaster life.
But the house of cards he has built is about to collapse as he tries to extricate himself from the vicious cycle of deceit and peril he has created.
For all of these women are far from normal: one hides the dark secret of a violent past, one works for the Intelligence Services, while another is wanted by the Russian mafia.
Not only that, he discovers — too late — that a sinister connection binds them together.
It is not unusual for him to wake up next to a woman whose name he cannot remember.
But when he awakens beside one who isn’t breathing, his problems have only just begun.
LOSING THE PLOT
You’ve got to understand this. No one is what they appear to be. If they tell you that they are, then they’re lying.
For my money, all women are basically the same. The only ones I tend to remember are the truly dreadful ones. You know, the ones who bite you like some fucking Transylvanian freak or consider it’s witty to text that they don’t do anal on a first date.
And sometimes I get confused between my ex-wife and my ex-any-number-of-women I’ve slept with because it all breaks down into that fucking dreadful caldron of white noise that is the catharsis of any relationship; and doubtless they think the same about me but that’s not really the issue right now.
The issue right now is the dead woman lying next to me.
Just the bare facts would do for now, like who is she, how the fuck she got here and, of course, what is she doing being dead.