Page 1 of Craving Demons

ANAIS

I fiddledwith the button on my shirt. I was so good at fiddling with it that I could unbutton and button it back up without thinking about it. It was a habit, but whether good or bad, who could say? Although, at the moment, itwashelping me get a job.

Somehow, I’d gotten lucky and walked in at exactly the right time. The usual manager — a woman — was out and I was being interviewed by the assistant manager. He was a slick middle-aged man with thick dark hair and dark eyes who wore a three-piece suit, and fiddling with my button had drawn his attention down to the lacy fringe of my cherry-red bra peeking out from my blouse.

I already had the shirt open just a little too low, showing off my fabulous cleavage, and with the blouse a white silk, the red bra beneath showed through. It was all on purpose. Some women may have preferred men to look them in the eyes, but not me.

I liked it when interviewers were men. Let them stare at my tits. My glorious girls were one of the few things I was proud of in my life and I’d prefer men look at them, rather than my eyes.

If, as they said, the eyes were the windows to the soul, then I wasn’t really sure what anyone would see in mine, because I felt hollow.

I was a thirty-eight-year-old woman withabsolutelyno clue who she was.

From the outside, I probably looked like I had it all: a beautiful family, a very curvy hourglass figure, and a brownstone in Manhattan.

But I didn’t own that house, my uncle did.

And as for my three daughters: the one who I understood, I didn’t get along with, and the other two were a mystery to me. And while I might look great, scratch the surface on me and I wasn’t sure what anyone would find. I wouldn’t call myself shallow… but my sixteen-year-old daughter would — and had — and that probably said it all.

My life was, in fact, a huge mess. That much, I knew for sure.

Other things I knew for sure: First, I had three beautiful daughters… even if they were from three different fathers. Second, my life had rarely, if ever, been stable. Third, I might still be attractive, but after three kids, I made a point to work hard to remain so. And the main thing I knew about myself, the only thing really — and which had caused serious problems my entire life — was that I liked bad boys.

And bad boys liked me.

That meant my relationships — if you could call them that — never lasted long. Either I got restless and cagey, or the guy found someone else.

Recently, that’s what had happened… again.

My last guy, a hot and uber-arrogant, Wall Street playboy, had convinced me to try a threesome with a “woman” who was fifteen years younger than me. He’d watched us tease each other, then banged her and seemed to get off on having me just…watch them. I should have left then, but I’d stayed the night and woken to neither of them in bed. He was doing her in the shower. Not even a “hey would you like to join us?”

So I’d collected my things, left, and swore off men, then and there.

On my way home that day, I’d decided I needed to make my own way in the world. Trouble was, I didn’t have much in the way of marketable skills. I hadn’t gone to college and had only barely finished high school. I could wait tables and tend bar and… that was it.

The only other area where I was exceedingly experienced was… in bed. But, since I wasn’t looking for a career in bed, that meant another serving job for me.

Fortunately, the new high-end club, Elysium, at the top of The Park Lane Hotel at the south end of Central Park needed a server and here I was.

And, from the way the assistant manager was eyeing my… credentials, I was a shoo-in.

“When can you start?” he asked, his gaze moving from my breasts to my resume. It was clear which of the two was more important to him.

“Today. I’ve got nothing on the go. I’m all yours,” I said with a sweet smile. I wasn’t particularly interested in this guy, but it didn’t hurt to flirt.

Which was all I could do.

I was off men for a reason. I needed to find out who I was without a man in my life, and I was long past due on that front, being nearly forty and all.

I was also long past due in finding some way to support myself. I didn’t want to live off my uncle my entire life. And that meant getting a job, which I was doing.

“Well, Ms. Baker, it seems like everything is in order. I’ll need to run this by the manager when she returns, but that’s just a formality. Your experience is clear and your look is quite refined. You’re hired.” The man rose and looked me in the eyes for the third time in a half hour. He smiled. Now that he was standing, I couldn’t help but flick my gaze down to his pants, and yup… there it was: the telltale bulge.

“Oh, thank you!” I rose quickly, making sure my boobs bounced for him.

I saw him hesitate for just a moment. Probably wanting to ask me out while remembering he was now my superior and that was against policy or something. I’d seen a lot of looks like that before. Still, he got in one last long look at my tits, then cleared his throat.

“Ah, yes, sorry, I’ll introduce you to your shift manager, and we’ll get some shifts set up for you. This way please.”

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