Great, another rich asshole wants my number. If I had dollar for every time that’s happened, I’d be rich myself.

I’ve chased off better men than this player, especially since I started working at the LBD. Sure, he’s famous and handsome as fuck with those male model looks—but he’s also already convinced he can hook up with me, which is more than annoying.

“What’s up? Something wrong?”

It’s my girlfriend Scarlett, one of the other cocktail servers here. I’m standing at the bar waiting for Mike the bartender to finish my drink order, and she’s evidently seen the sour look on my face.

I give her a frown and point my chin in the direction of Maddox Ramsey’s table. “Just another rich asshat.”

Scarlett and I became fast friends when I started working here because we’re both Midwestern girls. She’s one of the sweetest people I’ve ever met, and so ridiculously sexy with her red hair, curvy hips and big boobs. We also both have a nasty habit of calling people on their bullshit, and have gotten lectured on more than occasion by Max Donatello, the LBD manager, about not being snotty with customers. The customer is always right, and all that nonsense.

“That one guy looks familiar. The really hot one.”

“Yeah, that’s Maddox Ramsey. Rich-as-fuck Silicon Valley investment guy.”

“Wait a minute,” she says, “isn’t he the one who dated Kendall Marsh?”

“That’s him.” He had a high-profile fling with the actress a couple of years ago, and their nasty breakup was all over the tabloids. If I remember, she said he’d been cheating on her. That figures. Guys in general can’t be trusted, and rich guys are the worst of the worst. “He was eyeing me like I was a piece of meat. Hit me up for my number.”

“Did you give it to him?” Scarlet asks.

“Hell no, I didn’t.”

“Why not? I’m ashamed of you, Tempest Morrison. You should fuck him, then tell me all about it afterward.” She cocks one eyebrow in a slutty way that should have made me laugh. Instead I frown at her and she instantly looks horrified. “Oh my god. I’m so sorry. I wasn’t thinking. I’m such an idiot.”

“It’s no big deal,” I tell her. “Don’t worry about it.”

Scarlett is the only one here in Vegas who knows my secret, but I’m sure she was just being playful. I couldn’t hold it against her anyway because I love her so much.

“Well, let me know if you want me to take that table. I don’t mind.”

I smile and wave her away as I take my tray and head over to one of my other tables.

Scarlett is from Missouri, while I grew up in Cleveland. I arrived in Vegas six months ago and immediately got this LBD gig. Before that, I was in Chicago for eight months, New Orleans for ten months, Dallas for six and LA for six. When Max interviewed me for the job, he asked, only half joking, “So who or what are you running from?”

I only wish I knew.

I just can’t seem to be happy anywhere and am always hoping that the next stop will be the right one. So far, though, Vegas hasn’t been it. I mean, I like it here and all, but my life feels the same out in the desert as it did everywhere else.

Getting hit on by a guy like Maddox Ramsey would be enough to cheer most women up, something they could tell their friends about over drinks. For me, it’s just another reminder of why I’m so damn unhappy.

One of my other LBD coworkers, Ireland, recently quit when she married the man of her dreams. He’s Harrison, the famous singer, and she met him right here in the club. So now she’s starting a new life with him, happy as a clam.

Meanwhile, I’ve still never even had a man inside me. Any man.

Depressing, isn’t it?