I grab my black long-sleeved coat and rush out the side door, leaving the smells of bacon fat and scorched coffee behind.

It’s a warm night, and I don’t really need the coat, but there is no fucking way that I’m walking around Brentwood dressed like this.

I hate this uniform with a fucking passion. The skirt barely covers my ass, and the shirt is so damn tight that I feel like my tits are going to pop the buttons if I make any sudden movements.

But I need the job.

A girl’s gotta eat.

Speaking of eating, I’ve figured that by the time I get home, I’ll have roughly forty-five minutes to nap, shower, and chow down before going on to job number two.

And after just working a twelve-hour shift, that fucking blows.

I throw on my coat and button it up while I stand under the street light in the corner. The last thing I need is cops pulling me over and thinking I’m some hooker.

This is not how things are supposed to be right now, but life’s just had a way of shitting all over me since I graduated six months ago.

I worked hard all throughout high school to get the grades I needed to go to my dream school.

And it fucking paid off.

I got accepted to Yale.

My dreams were coming true, and I had the full support of my family—and then some.

I took out student loans, and my parents got a second mortgage on the house. My grandmother even took a mortgage out on her house. All so that I could go to one of the best universities in the country.

I wanted to go into politics and make a difference. Actually, I still do.

So when I got to Yale, I kept on working my ass off. I hustled hard for every point of my 4.0.

I had to.

Politics has always been a man’s game. It’s a world full of rich, old white men running things and young, plucky women like me getting them coffees.

I wanted to change that.

I graduated summa cum laude, received Exceptional Distinction in my major—Political Science—and the school newspaper even named me as the future of women in politics.

Nobody else from my graduating class got that kind of recognition.

I was the best of the fucking best.

And I earned every bit of praise I got.

I was even contacted by Tom Warren—the Senator of my home state of Pennsylvania—and landed an internship with him here in Washington D.C.

My future was fucking set. I was going to be somebody in this country.

Then I had the fucking rug pulled out from underneath of my feet.

And when I hit the ground, I hit it hard.

Senator Warren got caught up in a scandal three weeks before the start of my internship. He—and several of his money-bag friends—were proven involved in a huge prostitution and drug ring.

You’d think these idiots would learn to keep their cocks in their pants or save it for their wives, but no. They just have to be assholes.

The Senator’s wife left him, and he was forced to step down in the end.

And my internship along with him.

You’d think his actions wouldn’t have fucking mattered for my career, but once people learned that he had asked me to join his staff as an intern, my name was tainted.

In this town, it’s not about what you’ve done, but who you know or are involved with.

Having his name tied to mine killed my career before it even started.

But I’m not about to just give up.

Fuck that shit. I’m not some ‘oh woe is me’ whiny princess.

I’m a fucking fighter. And I’m going to make something of myself.

I see a group of men outside the Bloom. One is gyrating his hips in my direction, and his buddies cheer him on.

“Hey, baby, how much?” another calls out.

I look them each in the eyes and flip them off.

Fucking pigs.

I keep walking. I don’t have time for this.

“Excuse me, miss, do you have any spare change?”

I turn to see a frail, elderly woman. She seems to be in her sixties, but it’s hard to tell with the dirt on her face and her ragged clothes.

“Of course,” I tell her—because what kind of heartless asshole would say no to that?

I reach into my coat and pull out my wallet. I grab a ten-dollar bill—the only bill in my wallet—and hand it to her.

“Oh, bless your heart, dear.” She gives me one of those looks like we’re on an episode of Touched by an Angel and I’m the angel.

“Have a good night and stay warm,” I tell her with a smile.

I really don’t have the spare money myself to just give it away—hence the two jobs—but at this point, ten dollars isn’t about to make or break me. Money is tight…but not so tight that I can’t help someone in need.

If she can have a warm meal at the end of the night, then it’s worth it.

It’s women like her—and the others on the streets—that made me want to be a politician. I wanted to make a difference to the people who don’t have anyone else on their side.

I might not be able to save the world, but I can improve it.

Person by person if I have to.

It’s why I’m still here in the capital.

I know that I can still make it. I know that I can make all my dreams and aspirations a reality.

I just have to fight for it like I did in high school—like I did at Yale.

I’m Gabrielle fucking Bishop. And the Bishop clan doesn’t quit.

We don’t even know the meaning of the word.

Life may knock us down, but we always get up swinging.

And I never miss a punch.

“Hey, Gabbi!”

It’s Maria, my neighbor, standing in the doorway of our building.

This woman is another example of who I want to fight and make a change for.

She’s a single mom of two adorable kids—though you’d never know she was ever pregnant from her figure—who works two jobs like myself. By day, she works as a secretary at a dental clinic, and at night, she works as a stripper.

In this neighborhood, you do what you gotta do.

She does what not many people can.

And she’s an amazing mother to boot.

“Be careful, girl,” Maria tells me. “Charlie is waiting on you.”

A loud groan of disgust and frustration echoes into the cloudless night sky above.

“Thanks, Maria. Enjoy your shift.”

I slip through the front door of my building and step inside.

I’m really not looking forward to talking to Charlie at all.

It’s bad enough that I don’t have enough money to cover my rent, but the man is a disgusting pig.

I check my mailbox, and I’m not surprised to see more bills.

It’s soul-crushing at times when I open this damn thing, but I know that it’s the long game that matters.

All this bullshit—especially Charlie—is just temporary.

By the time I reach the top of the stairs, Charlie is waiting around the corner for me.

I could smell him about halfway up.

He’s like those teenagers that wear way too much Axe body spray because they think it’s what women want.

It so totally isn’t.

What’s worse is that he wears these buttoned-up shirts that are a size or two too small, which leaves his gut always hanging over them. His thick chest hair peaks from the unbuttoned collar like a small terrier trying to flee for its life. His pants always look like they’re about to slide off his nonexistent hips—because the man has, apparently, never heard of a belt—and he used half a bottle of hair gel to comb over the giant bald spot on the back of his head.

“Evenin’, sweetheart. Lookin’ good, Gabbi.”

He undresses me with his dark, beady eyes and licks his lips like I’m a platter of chicken wings.

I think I throw up a little in my mouth.

“It’s Gabrielle,” I remind him.

“So, I was thinking. Maybe tonight I could come and keep you company. I know you’ve had a really long day. You could probably use some company. A man’s company.”

“You know what, you’re right,” I tell him. “And when I see a man, I’ll invite him over.”

The smugness in his face disappears.

So does his smile.

“Look, Gabbi. I know you don’t have my rent money, so how about we make a deal?”

I raise my eyebrows. “No. No. And fuck no, Charlie. Hard pass.”

“Your loss, Gabbi, because I’m the best man in bed you could ever dream of having.”

He gives me another toothy grin, and I can see pieces of canned meat stuck between his yellow teeth.

“I’ll just have to find some way to survive, Charlie,” I say with a shrug. But when I try to slip by him, he throws an arm up and blocks me.

“Well, in the meantime, I want to let you know that your monthly rent just got a little higher.”

I blink at him slowly in disbelief, and I wonder who I pissed off in a past life.

“You’ve got to be kidding me. I’m already paying you more than this shithole is worth. How the fuck do you expect me to pay you more?”

“You could always go sell that tight little ass of yours. I bet you could earn top dollar, being a virgin and all.”

I hate the fact that he knows that about me. I learned real fast to be careful about what I talk to Maria about when he’s within earshot because of it.

He hands me an envelope—likely detailing the raise in rent.

“Five days, Gabbi. Or you’re out.”

He turns and walks away—scratching his flat ass as he does—and I hurry inside my apartment.

I throw the envelope across the room.

I do not need this shit right now.

But then I start to think about it…

And I think, maybe, for the first time in his miserable life, Charlie might actually have an idea here.

I’ve never felt any real attachment to my virginity. I guess the only reason I haven’t lost it by now is that I haven’t had the time.

Nor the right man—but where’s a girl like me supposed to find a six-foot-one Jensen Ackles look-alike with an Ivy League degree and a fine taste for mouthy lower-class blondes?

It might be nice to get it over with; to sleep with someone, do the deed, make the beast with two backs, and be done with this whole virgin thing, once and for all.

If I’m going to lose it anyway…

I peel off my coat and kick out my shoes. I stroll into my bedroom and plop down on my bed—with its creaky, old twin-sized mattress—and flip open my laptop.

Let’s see how much this tight little ass of mine might sell for these days. I mean, I am a virgin and all.