Names Have Power: Tim's Magic Voice Makes A Harem by Doctor MC Read Free Book Online

said that time that was different from when I talked
today about the ribbon?
    But then I realized, I don’t have to understand how
the Power worked. Since I had worked the Power on myself, I knew what to say to
get what I wanted. The one time I’d gone against my somehow-knowing, I’d made
this mess. The way to fix the mess was to let my Power-rewired brain and its
somehow-knowing do what they wanted to do.
    Well, it was good that I had a solution, because
Susie was continuing in misery.
    I looked at Susie, and let my mouth run. “Susan,
what I meant to say was, `From now on, don’t wear an ugly ribbon.’
Like a brown-plaid ribbon, or orange-and-green camouflage, that’s what I meant.
I said it wrong.”
    Susie blinked, and stopped crying. She took a
shuddering breath, and looked at the ribbon in her hand. “Mr. Hanson, I—that
is, I want so much for you to—I mean, I can’t—is this ribbon okay to
wear?”
    “Yes, that ribbon goes well with your skirt. Now,
please go to the restroom and fix your makeup, and please put the ribbon back
in your hair. Then take the rest of the day off with pay.”
    Susie rushed up to me, threw her arms around me,
and said, “You’re a wonderful boss!” Smiling, she then grabbed her purse and
dashed off to the ladies’ room.
    I felt like shit.
    A minute later, I was standing in Kathy’s office. I
used my Power to convince Kathy that nothing weird had happened—I explained
that Susie had caught a fever, which I sent her home because of. “And by the
way, Kathy, please don’t talk about this to anyone else at the dealership.
Susan would appreciate that.”
    ****
    After dealing with Susie and Kathy, I needed to
decompress. I was thirsty anyway, so when I headed to the breakroom to buy a
soda, I stayed there to drink it.
    Employees, for some reason, don’t linger in the
breakroom when the boss sits there. After five minutes, I was alone—except for
the TV in the corner. On TV was Jack Wilson. At Dad’s funeral, Jack’s “condolences”
I’d ranked in the Top Three for in sincerity.
    Right now, Jack was doing a commercial for his own
dealership; and even with the TV sound turned low, I could hear every word.
Jack was talking as loudly and excitedly as if he’d just won the lottery—but
instead, he was talking about this week’s quote-unquote “sale”—
    “And this weekend, our already low, low
prices will be even lower ! You gotta come down and check us out!”
    Sheesh, give me a break , I thought.
    I’d been a car dealer for less than a week, and
already I loved it. The money was good, but that was only part of the thrill.
    To walk through an inventory lot of hundreds of
cars, and they all look great and smell new, and every car has my name on
it—that’s a delight. To be there and watch when a young man comes on the lot
looking for a used car, because he thinks that a used car is all he can
afford, and we put him into the first new car he’s ever owned, so his kids get
as excited as Christmas morning and the guy’s wife thinks he’s a hero—then I feel like a hero too.
    But I really dreaded making years and years of
stupid car commercials, which was my duty to my dealership. C’mon, everybody
old enough to sign a legal contract is old enough to know that Tim Hanson Ford’s
salespeople work on commission—if we shaft the customer, we make more money; if
we sell cheap, the salesman starves. So why insult the customer by talking
about “low prices” that can never be low? For that matter, why call something a
“sale” that happens once a week, or once a month? Jeez, no wonder the public
distrusts car salesmen!
    I crushed the soda can between my hands, threw it
in the Recycle box, and stood up. As I headed for the door, I turned my mind to
the more immediate problem of naming a general sales manager to replace Mike.

Chapter 8
Owning A Sex Slave
    It was a few hours after I’d sent Susie home for
her “fever,” when I remembered that Deborah was scheduled