Английски език
I hate flowers...
I hate small talk...
I hate the male gaze...
I hate feeling lonely...
I hate feeling connected...
And most of all, I hate the idea of losing control...
It's one luxury I couldn't afford. As a handler, my job depends on my ability to control things. Everything.
Every room.
Every outcome.
Every possibility.
Every threat.
Every scandal.
Every principle.
Every interest.
Every dollar.
Every deal.
Every death.
But one look into the dark, desolate orbs of Ishmael Grayson, mayor-hopeful of Berkeley City, and I quickly discerned there were some things I couldn't control. The list began with promises of never ending. The casualties included the thud between my thighs, my uncontrollably wild thoughts, my swollen heart, my curious eyes, and my wandering extremities.
Until the moment I became his handler, I had always handled things. Handled people. Handled situations. Handled outcomes. Handled scandals. Handled deaths. Handled threats. Suddenly, the power structure had changed. And, I was faced with the duality of my profession. Not only was I handling Ishmael. Ishmael was handling me.
For fuck sake, the thing I despised most was upon me. And, I found myself losing all self-control. No boundaries. No biases. No borders. No brakes.
I am The Handler.
I handle people.
I handle situations.
I handle affairs.
I handle messes.
I handle mistakes.
Losing all control has never been an option.
But with him, it's my only option.
