This morning he’s taking a meeting with Shelle Rivers. In her voicemail, she didn’t mention what literary agency she was with. But she had this charming and intoxicating voice. Plus, her delightfully feminine giggle set Tom’s stomach flip-flopping. But he knows the voice never matches the expectations and resigns himself to meeting with some 70-year-old granny.
Tom pushes open the glass door to the upscale coffee shop, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee mingling with the scent of polished wood and leather. The place is chic, with sleek furniture and a polished, modern design. He feels slightly out of place in his simple button-down shirt and jeans, but that doesn’t matter. He’s here for a meeting that could change his life.
His eyes scout the room for Shelle Rivers. Expecting a mature woman, his gaze roves over couples and groups of men until it lands on a solitary woman. She is an absolute stunner with long, flowing hair, clad in a tight black dress that hugged every curve, and over-the-knee boots. Her neck and wrists sparkled with an array of jewelry that seemed to catch the light just right. A jolt in his stomach confirms it – this knockout is Shelle Rivers, the woman he’s meeting. Not some elderly literary agent with years of experience, but this absolute vision of elegance and allure. Could she really be interested in his book?
Trying to steady his nerves, Tom starts to make his way across the room. But his thoughts are a jumbled mess, and he doesn’t even notice the chair until it is too late. He bumps into it with a clumsy thud, nearly tripping over his own feet as he tries to recover. The chair scrapes loudly against the floor, drawing more attention than he wants.
As Tom finally arrives it to Shelle’s table, his nerves dart playfully, causing the corners of his lips to tug upwards into a sheepish grin. Shelle looks up from her coffee. Then, she laughs—a soft, feminine giggle that sends a shiver down Tom’s spine. It’s the same giggle he heard over the phone, the one that made his stomach flip-flop. Now, hearing it in person, it’s even more intoxicating.
“Tom Whitimer, I presume?” Shelle says, her voice smooth and melodic, with that same intoxicating charm. She flashes him a smile that could melt ice.
Tom’s face flushes with embarrassment “Yes, that’s me,” he stammers, trying to regain his composure.
“Please, have a seat.” She gestures to the chair across from her. Her smile doesn’t waver, and her eyes sparkle with amusement.
Tom nods trying to settle his nerves. He couldn’t help but wonder what kind of deal Shelle Rivers has in store for him. Whatever it was, this was going to be an interesting meeting.
“So, Tom,” Shelle begins, her voice a silky purr, “you’ve achieved something remarkable. A self-published novel reaching the top of the best-seller list is no small feat.”
Tom nods, trying to stay grounded. “Yeah, it’s been quite the journey. But, you know, I’d like to discuss the percentages—how we’ll handle the rights and all that.”
Shelle smiles, a slow, knowing smile that makes Tom’s pulse quicken. She raises a hand, a delicate wave that seemed to dismiss the topic entirely. “Percentages, contracts, all those details,” she murmurs, “they’re just numbers on a page. What really matters, Tom, is making your dreams come true.”
Tom opens his mouth to argue, but the words don’t come. He feels as though the room has grown warmer, the light softer, everything blurring at the edges. He blinks, trying to clear his head, but Shelle’s voice keeps pulling him back in, gentle and persuasive.
“You’ve worked so hard,” she continues, her eyes locking onto his, deep brown and impossibly mesmerizing. “You’ve poured your heart and soul into this book. Don’t you deserve to see it reach its full potential? To see it become a phenomenon?”
Her lips, painted a careful shade of scarlet, curl into a smile that was equal parts seductive and reassuring. Tom feels himself leaning forward, drawn in by the promise in her words. There’s something about the way she speaks, the way she holds his gaze, that makes him forget about percentages, forget about everything but the future she’s painting for him.
“I can make that happen for you, Tom,” Shelle whispers, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial tone. “I have the connections, the resources, everything you need to take this to the next level. All you have to do is trust me.”
Tom’s head feels heavy, his thoughts sluggish. He knows he should be thinking about the terms, about protecting his work, but all he could think about is Shelle’s voice, her eyes, the way she makes him feel as though anything was possible.
“Trust me,” she repeats, leaning in closer, her smile widening as she sees the uncertainty in his eyes begin to melt away. “Let me take care of everything, and you’ll be living your dream before you know it.”
Tom swallows, his resistance crumbling. The doubts that have been swirling in his mind are fading, replaced by a growing sense of inevitability. She’s right. She can make his dreams come true. All he has to do is let go and trust her.
“Okay,” he finally says, his voice barely a whisper. “Okay, let’s do it.”
Shelle’s smile deepens, and for a moment, her eyes seem to gleam with something darker, more intense. But before Tom can fully register it, she leans back in her chair, her expression once again soft and reassuring.
“Good,” she purrs, her voice wrapping around him like a velvet shroud. “You’ve made the right choice, Tom. This is just the beginning.”
Shelle reaches into her purse and pulls out a thick stack of papers, which she slides across the table toward Tom with an elegant, practiced motion. The rustle of the pages seem to echo in the quiet of the coffee shop, and Tom’s heart skips a beat as he stared at the imposing stack.
“Just a formality,” Shelle says with that same enchanting smile, her voice as smooth as silk. “If you could sign these, we can get started on making your dreams a reality.”
Tom blinks, taken aback by the abruptness. He expected a conversation, maybe a few more questions, not a contract shoved at him before they’d even finished their coffee. Hesitating, he picks up the first page and skims it, his brow furrowing.
“Shouldn’t I have my attorney look over this first?” he asks, trying to keep his tone light but firm. He isn’t naive, and he knows better than to sign anything without proper legal advice.
Shelle’s smile doesn’t falter, but her eyes seem to darken just a shade. “Oh, Tom,” she coos, leaning forward slightly. “That won’t be necessary. This is just a standard agreement, nothing more. I’m here to help you, not take advantage of you.”
Her voice is so persuasive, so soothing, that for a moment Tom feels his doubts start to dissolve. But then he glances down at the contract again, his eyes narrowing as he focuses on the details.
Something doesn’t seem right. He reads more closely, his stomach tightening as he realizes what is set out before him. Shelle isn’t taking the usual agent’s cut—15% or even 20% of his earnings. No, she is taking everything. All his royalties, all his rights, the entire future of his book. If he signs this, he’ll be left with nothing.
Tom’s heart pound s his chest. He looks up at Shelle, suddenly feeling a surge of panic. “I—I can’t sign this,” he stammers, pushing the papers back toward her. “This contract… it gives you everything. I’d be left with nothing.”
Shelle’s smile fades just slightly, replaced by a look of cold, calculated intent. She doesn’t move, doesn’t flinch, as Tom starts to rise from his seat, the instinct to leave this meeting, to escape, overwhelming him. Shelle simply snaps her fingers and commands, “Sit.” Tom is getting out of the meeting with Shelle, realizing she’s going to take advantage of him; as he start to stand, she snaps her fingers and issues a one word command, “sit” freezing Tom in place.
The word echoes in Tom’s mind, freezing him in place. He can’t move, can’t think, can’t even breathe. It’s as though his body is no longer his own, held captive by that single, forceful command. His eyes widen in terror as he realizes what has just happened, but he is powerless to do anything about it.
Shelle’s smile returns, colder this time, and she leans in close, her eyes locking onto his with an intensity that sends chill down his spine. “Now, Tom,” she whispers, her voice once again smooth and persuasive, “you’re going to want to listen to what I have to say.”
“By my will, you shall obey,
Your thoughts are mine, both night and day.
Bend your knee and heed my call,
From this moment, I rule all.
Now let your heart be bound to mine,
In love so deep, you’ll never find.
With every breath, you’ll crave my touch,
Desire me, you’ll need so much.
And finally, as I speak these lines,
Your soul is trapped, forever mine.
My eternal slave you now shall be,
Serving me for eternity.”
As the spell completes, Tom’s eyes glaze over, his mind and heart now completely entwined with Shelle’s will. She gazes at him, a satisfied smile curling her lips.
“Sign the papers, Tom,” she commands, her voice smooth and irresistible. “Give me everything—your rights, your royalties, your entire novel. It’s all mine now.”
Without hesitation, Tom reaches for the pen, his movements automatic, devoid of any resistance. His hand glides across the stack of papers, signing away everything that once belonged to him, his mind completely consumed by the need to please her, to serve her.
Shelle watches with a triumphant gleam in her eyes as Tom finishes, utterly devoted and bound to her will. She releases her hold on Tom with a subtle flick of her wrist, and the paralysis that gripped him melts away. His body is his own again, but his mind remains ensnared by her spell, filled with a desperate need to obey her every command.
“Kneel before me, Tom,” Shelle orders, her voice a velvet purr. “And thank me for enslaving you, for taking all rights to your book. Show me your gratitude.”
Without a moment’s hesitation, Tom drops to his knees, his heart pounding with a strange mixture of fear and devotion. He gazes up at her, his expression one of utter submission.
“Thank you, Shelle,” he says, his voice trembling. “Thank you for enslaving me, for taking everything. I’m grateful to be yours.”
Shelle’s lips curl into a satisfied smile as she looks down at him, her eyes gleaming with amusement. She lets out a light, feminine giggle, the sound both sweet and sinister, echoing in Tom’s mind as he kneels before her, completely and irrevocably hers.
Shelle stands up with a graceful ease, gathering her things as if this entire encounter has been nothing more than a casual meeting. Tom, still on his knees, watches her with growing horror, the realization sinking in that she’s leaving. Panic grips his heart as he scrambles to his feet, reaching out toward her.
“Please, Shelle, don’t go,” Tom pleads, his voice cracking with desperation. “I—I can’t live without you.”
Shelle pauses, turning to face him with a look of amused indifference. “Tom,” she says softly, her tone almost pitying, “I already have everything I want from you. There’s no reason for me to stay.”
Tears well up in Tom’s eyes, his breath hitching as he struggles to keep his composure. “But… I need you,” he stammers. “I’ll do anything. Just don’t leave me.”
Shelle steps closer, her lips curling into a smirk as she leans in, her hot breath brushing against his neck. “If you want me to return,” she whispers, her voice low and sultry, “then write another best seller. Make it even bigger than the first. And when you do, I’ll come back… and take that too.”
Her words linger in the air, cold and final. She pulls back, giving him one last, mocking smile before turning and walking toward the door. Tom stands frozen, his heart shattering as he watches her go, knowing that he is now completely at her mercy. The door swings shut behind her, leaving Tom alone, on the verge of tears, his mind spinning with the impossible task she’s left him with.