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Authors: Meg Silver

Help Wanted

BOOK: Help Wanted
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Fantasy Heights Series: Book 1


by Meg Silver



Copyright 2011
, Meg Silver, et al.


* * * * *

This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author's imagination, or have been used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental.


* * * * *

Kindle E
dition, License Notes

This book may be reproduced, copied and distributed for non-commercial purposes
without penalty
, provided the book remains in its complete original form
and proper attribution is given.


* * * * *

Author’s Foreword

Help Wanted
is the ‘pilot episode,’ if you will, of the Fantasy Heights Series. From the very beginning,
it has been a free
If you paid for this standalone file, please let Amazon know this
is available for free elsewhere, and ask for a refund
, with my compliments

Help Wanted and The New Girl
is a separate edition; a complimentary copy of
Help Wanted
was included in
The New Girl
(book 2) file.
The bundled edition is not free
. Sorry for any confusion.

For all the latest Fantasy Heights news and updates, please visit my site:


* * * * *


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 herself to hesitate another second. She slipped through the door the owner held open, and found herself under examination once more.

“Not too tall,” the older woman observed, speaking of Amanda’s height. “Not too thin, either. Nice breasts, and I like the sundress. They prefer feminine, well-spoken types like you, and uninhibited. I suppose I should warn you to be ready for anything if Ms. Watson agrees to an interview.”

“Ms. Watson?”

“The owner, Stephanie Watson. She’s good people, if a little strict. Can’t blame her, really. Just through here, please. I’ll make the call from my office.”

The owner waved her into a chair and picked up the desk-phone’s receiver and made the call. It didn’t take long, just a few quiet words before she smiled and said goodbye.

To Amanda, she said, “She’ll see you whenever you can get there. The place is just a mile outside town.”

Amanda took down the directions and headed back out to the rental car with nearly everything she owned stashed in the trunk. She’d wanted to take this vacation to just disappear for a week. If this job panned out, she’d stay much longer than that.

Fantasy Heights Spa had a security gate. She had to state her name at a kiosk and was only allowed through once she’d shown the attendant a photo ID. So far, so good, she thought. Decent security, and what a beautiful place. The woods were dense, the grounds well kept, and the lavish flowerbeds were bright and colorful as paintbrush strokes on a lush green canvas.

She’d been directed to the business office, a building apart from the sprawling stone Victorian, the obvious centerpiece of the resort’s theme. Once upon a time the smaller, scaled-down version she parked in front of now must have been a guest or gate house.

Inside, she expected a receptionist, but instead she was met in the front hall by a woman about the same age as the shopkeeper, though shorter, and a little roly-poly. Pretty smile, and blessed with thick, curling hair black as two midnights. She gathered it over one shoulder, then offered a hand to shake. “You must be Amanda?”

“I am. You’re Steph Watson?”

“Yes,  nice to meet you, I’m sure. Tell me, why would you want to work in fantasy fulfillment? Have you worked in the sex trade before? A dancer, perhaps?”

“No, I... Well, you’ll find out from my background check that I was a bank manager, and without getting into too much detail, I just really need to get out of my current situation for personal reasons. I need to do, to be someone else for a while. Take on a new challenge.”

Steph let out a quiet sniff of laughter. “This place will certainly challenge you. I’m not sure you understand how much. Are you willing to do some testing?”

“Sure. What do you want me to do?”

“You can step out back, here, for starters. Just onto the patio.”

Amanda did as asked, stepping out a sliding glass door and down a couple steps onto a split-stone patio. It let out onto a wide lawn and provided a nice view of a cluster of bigger buildings newer than the main and gatehouse. Recent additions, she could tell, though still in keeping with the theme.

Steph nodded toward a long, low massage table near the edge of the patio. “Clothes off, please. Everything, including your sandals, bra and panties.”

Amanda went still a moment. Steph didn’t waste any time, obviously, and though her first instinct was to ask why she wanted her to strip in full view of the entire resort, she knew she shouldn’t. Steph was testing her already.

It worried her a little that an electric buzz of nerves sizzled in her belly as she set her purse down near the massage table and bent to unstrap one sandal. Nerves were only natural, and probably a good thing. Any normal person would be nervous, disrobing in public at the request of a complete stranger.

She stepped out of her sandals, then reached behind herself to unzip the sundress. The spaghetti straps slipped down her arms, and she let them go, wriggling a little to help the sundress shimmy over nicely rounded hips.

Steph stared openly at her body, taking in the gentle slopes of her stomach, then rising to adhere to her breasts in the yellow lace bra. She had large breasts. D-cups, with petal-pink nipples she could feel tighten against the fabric. Since Steph looked so interested, she let the sundress hang at her hips and unclasped her bra to expose her bare breasts.

The air felt cool against her sensitized skin when she slipped the bra off. It felt like every eye for miles around was staring right at her erect nipples, and she suffered a sudden and intense thrill. She liked the sensation of being nude out in the open where so many people might be watching. And she didn’t mind Steph staring. The older woman looked appreciative and approving, but not as if she wanted to touch.

BOOK: Help Wanted
12.27Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub

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