That's what the saprophyte she told herself (and others). It sounded intelligent. In a cheap, affected way.
And it was absolutely true. She didn't expect any rewards after she was dead. She was going to enjoy them all while she was alive, thank you very much.
So she kept her eyes open for the next sucker, and this one fell at her feet like a plump, dumb pigeon. Sick, lonely, and rich. An old whiny wife, and no children. He'd wandered into her bar, dyed hair and cheap gold chains jingling like the proverbial dinner bell. It hadn't been hard convincing him he needed an administrative assistant - one who could meet all of his needs. She was familiar with excel and could tie a cherry stem in a knot with her tongue.
She scrunched her face in the mirror, this way and that, assessing the need for botox. Probably not. She could more easily remove his glasses, first, with an oh-so-seductive trailing of her press-on nails down his cheek. He'd be eating out of the palm of her hand. She patted her hair extensions, confident of her skills. It would be over so quick it wasn't worth removing his socks.