I was in Vegas, wearing a black dress that exposed so much cleavage it was hard for people to maintain eye contact with me. I was a 27-year-old slipping out of her weekly life as a manager at a tech company and ditching her standard cardigans and polka dots for the uniform of a seductress. I was nervous and anxious, using red wine as a sedative as I waited to get a text from my boss. Over lunch at work the week before, we realized we'd be in Sin City at the same time.