HELP WANTED
Fantasy Heights Series, Book 1
“What’s Fantasy Heights?”
Amanda held up a glossy postcard to show the antique-shop owner which one she’d been reading. The front of the card had a wispy, vaguely Victorian Fantasy Heights banner in red and gold wrapped around a voluptuous woman’s silhouette. Sexy, but elegant at the same time. On the back, written in neat handwriting, was ‘Help Wanted: Now hiring support staff.’
The shop owner, a forty-something woman with pretty, gentle features and lovely green eyes looked up abruptly from the magazine she’d been reading, as if Amanda had asked where she might find a sawed-off shotgun and ski mask.
Her eyes scanned Amanda from dark widow’s peak down to red toenails and designer sandals, then rose once more to linger around breasts and hips. Assessing. Judging. Maybe even imagining.
In a voice that was eight parts polite and two parts ice water, the shopkeeper explained. “Fantasy Heights is a specialty resort. Very exclusive. Not your cup of tea, I’m sure.”
“Relax. I’m not a cop or anything. I’m just curious, is all. I need a job as far away from home as possible.”
“What’s the matter? Daddy take away your trust fund?”
Offended by the woman’s assumption, she wielded the truth like a slap. “No. I got jilted two weeks ago and my ex-fiancé is about to marry my barely legal stepsister. It was such a scandal back home that the bank I was managing fired me the morning after.”
Most people hearing the tale grimaced or said ‘oh my God’ or something. The shopkeeper, however, would have made a good judge with her mask of aloof disinterest. “That’s a very sad story. If it’s true, I feel very sorry for you.”
“No need. I feel sorry enough for myself, thanks. Now could you please tell me where I might get in touch with these Fantasy Heights people? There’s no number or address on the card.”
The shopkeeper straightened on the high stool behind the counter. She now wore an owlish, uncertain expression, still undecided.
What was this woman’s problem? “Look, I’m picking up the protective vibe loud and clear, all right? And I’m not some naive city girl. The postcard paints a pretty good picture of what the place is all about. I presume they need support staff to fulfill their guests’ sexual fantasies. If the money’s halfway decent and they screen their clientele well enough, I’d be extremely interested.”
The ice broke with a dismissive shrug. “Fine, then. But if you’re serious about this, you’d better move fast. They’ve got a long waiting list for interviews, and those openings don’t usually last more than a day at most. How about you step in back with me, and I’ll give the owner a call. I’m sure she’d be interested in meeting you.”
A small twitter of excited triumph was chased away by a zap of alarm. If she went through with this and auditioned for this Fantasy Heights job, it would be the single most impulsive thing she’d ever done. But she was never impulsive. Never especially adventurous. Certainly never brave enough to pursue her own fantasies.
The jilting had changed her, however. The old Amanda would have walked away from the postcard without a second thought. This Amanda craved some sexual experimentation. At age twenty-eight, she’d only had two partners before Darren, her ex-fiancé, and no one since. He hadn’t been very adventurous or imaginative. Amanda would have liked to try a lot more. A lot more. The rush of sexual excitement was one of the purest, most amazing of all, in her opinion, and even an ambiguous imagining of fulfilling other people’s wants set a slow, scalding ache alight in her nipples and between her thighs.
It felt good. Exactly what she needed to undo the damage her ex-fiancé had done, to feel desirable and powerful again, and do something a hell of a lot more exciting than become just another corporate automaton.
Amanda didn’t allow
Fantasy Heights Series, Book 1
“What’s Fantasy Heights?”
Amanda held up a glossy postcard to show the antique-shop owner which one she’d been reading. The front of the card had a wispy, vaguely Victorian Fantasy Heights banner in red and gold wrapped around a voluptuous woman’s silhouette. Sexy, but elegant at the same time. On the back, written in neat handwriting, was ‘Help Wanted: Now hiring support staff.’
The shop owner, a forty-something woman with pretty, gentle features and lovely green eyes looked up abruptly from the magazine she’d been reading, as if Amanda had asked where she might find a sawed-off shotgun and ski mask.
Her eyes scanned Amanda from dark widow’s peak down to red toenails and designer sandals, then rose once more to linger around breasts and hips. Assessing. Judging. Maybe even imagining.
In a voice that was eight parts polite and two parts ice water, the shopkeeper explained. “Fantasy Heights is a specialty resort. Very exclusive. Not your cup of tea, I’m sure.”
“Relax. I’m not a cop or anything. I’m just curious, is all. I need a job as far away from home as possible.”
“What’s the matter? Daddy take away your trust fund?”
Offended by the woman’s assumption, she wielded the truth like a slap. “No. I got jilted two weeks ago and my ex-fiancé is about to marry my barely legal stepsister. It was such a scandal back home that the bank I was managing fired me the morning after.”
Most people hearing the tale grimaced or said ‘oh my God’ or something. The shopkeeper, however, would have made a good judge with her mask of aloof disinterest. “That’s a very sad story. If it’s true, I feel very sorry for you.”
“No need. I feel sorry enough for myself, thanks. Now could you please tell me where I might get in touch with these Fantasy Heights people? There’s no number or address on the card.”
The shopkeeper straightened on the high stool behind the counter. She now wore an owlish, uncertain expression, still undecided.
What was this woman’s problem? “Look, I’m picking up the protective vibe loud and clear, all right? And I’m not some naive city girl. The postcard paints a pretty good picture of what the place is all about. I presume they need support staff to fulfill their guests’ sexual fantasies. If the money’s halfway decent and they screen their clientele well enough, I’d be extremely interested.”
The ice broke with a dismissive shrug. “Fine, then. But if you’re serious about this, you’d better move fast. They’ve got a long waiting list for interviews, and those openings don’t usually last more than a day at most. How about you step in back with me, and I’ll give the owner a call. I’m sure she’d be interested in meeting you.”
A small twitter of excited triumph was chased away by a zap of alarm. If she went through with this and auditioned for this Fantasy Heights job, it would be the single most impulsive thing she’d ever done. But she was never impulsive. Never especially adventurous. Certainly never brave enough to pursue her own fantasies.
The jilting had changed her, however. The old Amanda would have walked away from the postcard without a second thought. This Amanda craved some sexual experimentation. At age twenty-eight, she’d only had two partners before Darren, her ex-fiancé, and no one since. He hadn’t been very adventurous or imaginative. Amanda would have liked to try a lot more. A lot more. The rush of sexual excitement was one of the purest, most amazing of all, in her opinion, and even an ambiguous imagining of fulfilling other people’s wants set a slow, scalding ache alight in her nipples and between her thighs.
It felt good. Exactly what she needed to undo the damage her ex-fiancé had done, to feel desirable and powerful again, and do something a hell of a lot more exciting than become just another corporate automaton.
Amanda didn’t allow
Similar Books
