Red wine is a bitch to get out. Even the cheap crap Alfonso served that barely passed as wine.

Solana had soaked the shirt in bleach overnight to remove the stain. Cursed the brooding brute who'd slammed into her, spilling the drinks on her tray and then scowling at her like it was her fault he wasn't watching where he walked. Another asshole in a string of assholes. What had she done in this life to attract them?

"That shirt's a bit... um... see through." Trixie bit her lip as Solana removed her jacket and hung it in her locker.

"Might as well give 'em a show tonight." She wasn't spending money on another shirt. Only one more night to work at this place before she was out of there. Gonzo. Leaving the grabby bar owner, the club scene, Las Vegas, the place where people pretended to have fun a lot more than they did. All of it.

Back home it was. Tail not quite between her legs, but not exactly prom queen either. She'd come to Vegas to make her fortune. The plan had been to manage a club, then own one. Money to be made, hand over fist. It was Vegas, baby. How could anything go wrong?

Actually, it was quite easy for everything to go to hell in a handbasket. And quick. Sleeping with the owner of the bar she managed had been her first mistake. Falling in love with him, her second. Investing in the club with the man she was emotionally involved with, her third. Three strikes and you're out. Out on your ass. Up to your neck in debt.

Lincoln's killer smile laughed at her in her head. If she ever found the lying bastard, she'd cut his heart out. And his balls off. He'd disappeared overnight, draining their joint bank account and leaving her to clean up his mess, pay the outstanding bills and close the bar that had been their dream.

Trixie fixed her bright pink lipstick in the mirror beside her. "Place is already packed out there. And those VIPs are back again."

Great. The asshole and his friends had returned to the scene of the crime. In her mind, she pinned the dark-haired brute to a rock in hell alongside Lincoln and her ex-husband Cassius. She'd be sure to avoid their section in case she decided he needed to be taught some manners.

Out on the floor she got to work, talking up the customers, taking their orders, working hard for the tips. Tonight's haul would be the last influx of cash until she found a job back home. So, it was all smiles and tits out. The Peppermint Stick was not the classiest bar off the strip, but she'd been lucky to get the job when Sweets had closed. She did what she had to do to survive. Luckily, it hadn't come down to stripping. Yet.

"I want a drink, sweetheart."

With a smile in place, Solana turned to her next customer. The smile slipped as her gaze landed on the tall brute from last night. He towered over her, dressed in a light blue button-down shirt that matched his icy eyes. "Great. Ask your server or go to the bar."

"I want you to get it."

She hated guys like this. The ones that expected others to jump, fulfil their every whim. Yes, technically this was the job she'd signed up for. But it didn't give him the right to order her around. "Sorry, I've got other customers. Trixie over there can help you."

"I'll give you a hundred dollars to be our waitress tonight."

She hated guys like him even more. Privileged jerk who thought he could throw money at her and she'd jump at the chance to serve him. Yes, she needed the money. But her pride meant more. She wasn't for sale. "First, the term is server. Gender neutral. And Trixie is working your table. She'd be happy for the tip."

Considering the matter closed, she turned to leave, but he stepped in front of her. "Five hundred."

Shit. She knew girls who would take their top off for that kind of money. "Sorry. It's against the club rules."

Those baby blue eyes narrowed, and he tilted his chin up. "Who makes the rules?"

"That'd be the manager, Alfonso."

"Great. I want to talk to him then." His lips curled and he held his hand out like she should show him the way.

Relentless bastard. "Fine. Mac at the bar can introduce you." She jerked her head towards the long, black lacquered bar to her left.

"I want you to take me to him."

"I have to deliver these drinks." She lifted the tray where the two martinis, liquid inside the glass for now, sat.

His smirk widened, like this was a game and he had all the right cards. "I'll wait, sweetheart."

The name made her teeth grind. Generic, chauvinistic blather men used when they couldn't be bothered to learn someone's actual name. Her nametag was pinned to her chest. All he had to do was look. But oddly he didn't, kept his eyes locked on hers.

She didn't want to give in, give the asshole what he wanted. But standing here arguing with him was not helping with the tips. "Fine. Wait."

She placed the drinks in front of her customers and took her sweet ass time walking back to the dark-haired jerk. His light grey tailored pants complimented the blue shirt, and both screamed money but not in a flashy way. Jet-black hair, short on the sides, lush on the top, framed a chiselled face other women might get all bothered about. She had to admit he was hot. Problem was, he knew it.

Not bothering to stop, she strode by and didn't look at him as she spoke. "Follow me, sweetheart."

At the end of the bar, Solana caught Mac's attention and pointed at the door. The big man reached under the bar and the door before her buzzed. She yanked it, stepped through and climbed the worn wooden stairs. She had the distinct impression the man following behind her was staring at her butt the whole way up.

Down the hall, she stopped outside the door with the tarnished gold nameplate MANAGER and rapped on it.

"What?" Ever the gentleman.

"Put away the porn, Alfonso. Customer here to see you." She pushed open the door and entered the squalid little office the club's manager spent ninety percent of his time in. On her left a bank of screens showed black and white images of every corner of the area downstairs, except for the insides of the bathrooms. Apparently, there was still a shred of decency left in Alfonso.

The man himself sat behind a green metal desk probably there when Sinatra sang in the club that one drunken night. Yes, they were all drunken nights so nobody could really remember when the evening happened, but the original owners swore it was true. His snarl turned into a smile as his beady black eyes swiveled from Solana to the man of wealth trailing behind her.

"Alfonso, this is..." Well, she didn't know his name. Hadn't bothered to ask.

"Jack."

"Right. Jack," she had to resist adding 'ass', "this is the manager."

Jack didn't hesitate, strode across the room and shook Alfonso's sweaty hand. Solana wasn't sure she'd have done that, given what she knew Alfonso did with that hand. Frequently. "Good to meet you. Great place you have here."

"Kiss ass." She didn't mumble.

"What can I do for you, Jack?"

The tall jerk's face spilt into a smile capable of charming the devil out of his own pitchfork. "It's my friend's big night tonight. Giving up his freedom at the end of the month," Jack winked at the manager. "We need a waitress," he emphasized the word, "to be at our beck and call. Solana here offered, but I wanted to ask you first."

"I—" Solana bit her tongue.

"Of course, I know this puts you at a disadvantage, so I'll offer a thousand dollars for the privilege of her attention." Jack reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. "On top of any drinks we order, of course."

Alfonso's eyes lit up with dollar signs, and Solana's stomach sank with disgust. This was not her night.