Harriet

"Sam Blake. I have your phone."

San spat back a curse of frustration. He knew that voice well, it was that bitch from the office Harriet. His mind raced about. What did that horrid, hateful cow want with him? The answer came to him quickly. He had accidentally bewitched the woman into loving him. Fuck. What could be done about this? Fucking fuck.

He tried to calm himself, focused on the upside. Harriet was an absolute pain in the ass, but this was a far preferable outcome than if Vicky had gotten a hold of his phone. He could work with this, he just needed to be patient.

"Harriet," he replied, "you...have my phone?"

There was a pause, then, "Yep. You silly boy, you must have dropped it when you ran by me," a laugh, "very rude of you by the way."

"Uh, yeah...sorry about that," he shifted uncomfortably, "I was in a bit of a rush to get home."

"Hmmm," Sam didn't like the way Harriet hummed, "well, in any case, I think you can make it up to me for being so rude."

"Y-yeah?" He swallowed audibly, "how's that?"

Harriet sighed lightly. "Well, I was thinking maybe you could come by my place tonight. I could do a roast, we could have some wine...."

Fuck, this was going to be painful. Maybe he could find a way to slip out of it, convince her to give him the phone while he kept her at arms length....

"I don't know if I could do a dinner," he replied, trying to sound conflicted, "I've got a lot of stuff I need to get to and-"

"- I have your phone, Sam," she cut him off, voice stern, "and the only way you're getting it back is if you come by my place, tonight, seven o'clock. Be there."

Before he could argue, the line went dead.

Fuck.

He paced back and forth in his home office, pondering how he could approach this situation. She hadn't exactly left Sam many options so he was going to have to go her house and go through with the farce. But he supposed it might not be completely horrible. All he had to do was pretend to be interested in what she had to say, smile politely and nod when required. He might even get a decent meal out of it. And besides, if she pressed him for anything else he could just take the phone by **** and get out of there.

The day came and went, Sam having to fend of Stella's advances and barricade himself away until sundown. When it was time he dressed himself in semi-decent clothes to give the impression he actually cared about this date and got into his car.

Harriet's house was...well, it was actually better than he expected. Truth be told, if you could overlook the bitchy attitude and her weight problem, Harriet held a pretty decent standard with most things in her life. Her house was no exception. Very well maintained garden, neatly mowed lawns, and the house itself looked like something you would have seen in a magazine.

He was standing at the door, working up the courage to ring the bell when it swung open and Harriet stood before him with a broad grin on her face. She was dressed very much like a stereotypical homemaker, wearing an old fashioned polka dot dress, her red hair done up in a style that recalled Jackie Kennedy.

"Oh Sam, you look lovely!" She waved him inside, "come, come, I've got everything set up in the dinning room!"

The smell of roast wafted through the air and caressed Sam's nostrils. A good Christmas roast had always been a favourite of his and the scent began to make him salivate as he was escorted through into a cozy dinning room. The table was set and very quickly he was ushered into a seat.

"Be back in a pinch!" She winked at him and hurried off to the kitchen.

Sam ran through his plan of attack. He would sit through dinner, which admittedly didn't seem like much of a chore with all the lovely food that was laid out, make small talk and humour Harriet's bullshit for as long as was polite, and then ask for the phone. He didn't think he'd have to get violent, but even if he did, whatever damage he caused could be undone when he got his powers back.

Harriet returned, roast in oven mitt-hand. It looked glorious as she laid it out on the table and began to serve him up a plate. The meat, roast potatoes, pumpkin, peas, gravy, looked absolutely delicious. She handed him the plate and poured him some wine. "Now dig in!"

He didn't need to be told twice. It was as good as it looked, and for a moment he allowed himself to forget his worries and enjoy himself.

"I wanted to apologise again," Harriet told him after she sat down, watching him eat as she sipped at her wine. "I was absolutely awful to you the other day. I really couldn't bear it if you were angry with me."

Sam stiffened a little. Great, here comes the lovely dovey shit. He'd have to play it cool and endure it. "Don't worry about it," he took a drink of his wine, " really is um...water under the bridge."

"You know, I've always held you in high regard," she said after a moment. "You're really one of the best people I've had the good fortune of working with."

Yeah right. Before the magic shenanigans got involved Harriet fucking loathed him on a molecular level. But the universe had changed, been rewritten. Who was to say that's not how things were now? So instead of arguing, Sam merely took another bite of roast and hummed noncommittally.

"In fact Sam," she eyed him closely, "I've come to love you from afar."

There was no avoiding it then.

Sam shifted in his seat, swallowed another bite, then spoke. "Harriet, I'm married."

"I know," she sighed, "but are you really happy with that woman? I don't think you are..."

He felt a sweat come on, his heartbeat felt weird. Jesus this was going to be awkward to navigate. "I'm very happy with my family."

"I don't think that's true. I see how miserable you are at work, how defeated you look," she waved a fleshy hand, "that's not a man who is properly being looked after," her hand settled on her chest, where her huge, fleshy tits threatened to spill out of her dress, "I could look after you Sam. I really could. Every inch of your body would be loved, all your needs attended to you."

Sam was covered in sweat by now, his heartbeat erratic. His vision was blurring and darkening. Could he really be panicking so badly to have an anxiety attack? He tried to brush it aside.

"I'm ...I'm flattered Harriet, really," he tugged at his collar, hoping to help with the heat he was feeling, "but...I'm content with my life. Really...um...really what I came here for was my phone...and..."

Harriet sighed again. "You know, its sad really. Like Stockholm syndrome I think, your horrible wife has convinced you that what you're experiencing is a normal life, but it's not," her round face fell sadly, "I've really got my work cut out to save you."

"S-save me?"

Sam struggled with words. Why was his tongue so sluggish? Had the room gotten darker? His sweat was sticking to his clothes uncomfortably. Wait, he looked at Harriet's plate. There wasn't any food on it, she hadn't eaten at all during the whole dinner while he had happily devoured everything she put before him. What had she put in his food?!

He tried to stand, but felt his feet give way beneath him. The world swam and suddenly Harriet was standing over him.

"Don't worry," she said, "when you wake up everything will be so much better..."