The Fifteenth Representative by Hilla Dagan (fiction novels to read .TXT) 📕

when you’re fighting,” he said with an envious smile.

“What do you say? Really?” I smiled wider, only to change the mood and finish this unwanted conversation.

“We’re not fighting. This is normal for us,” Eran said and took out his wallet, since we’d passed the initial security at the airport and would be getting off soon.

I swallowed tightly. He was pushing it. He really had no boundaries. That’s the problem with him.

When he was hurt or upset, he went ahead and hurt everyone around him. One after the other. All without a lick of care about anything but his own anger. I hated that about him. It drove people away.

Marvelous. Twenty-three hours and three layovers with his sulking face. Well, per hour, the pay still wouldn’t be bad. How much was it… let’s see. Fifteen million divided by three months… that’s five-million a month. Divide that into thirty-thirty-one and that’s around… forty thousand dollars a day? But still, that’s without taxes.

When I come back, I’ll be able to cover my whole family’s mortgage payments.

“Look, how about we change the mood? What do you say?” I said and I pushed across his lap to the window seat. The sasquatch that he is.

“Are you suffering from mood swings?” he answered with a smile I couldn’t help but love. That was my Eran.

“Why—are you?” I smiled and suddenly—in a matter of a millisecond—we became that lovey-dovey couple everyone hates.

“All the time… all the time, baby.”

“What are your symptoms? Let’s try and get to the root of the problem here… maybe I can help. I’m good with helping, you know. It’s a talent. I’m also an excellent conversationalist—so, I’m not only talented at all my other… womanly qualities.”

“You know… it’s strange that you even ask, Noa.”

“Why?”

“Why? Why? It’s because of you, Noa. That’s why.”

“What did I do now?”

“Nothing,” he replied and bit his lip.

“So, what’s the problem? I don’t understand.”

“That’s the problem, Noa.”

“What?”

“Never mind.”

“What do you mean, never mind?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“No—it does matter.”

He gave me an exasperated look.

“Who did you go to Greece with?”

“How do you even know I was there?” Idiot. I should have thought who it was I was asking. I decided to carry on the same line as him. “I had a date with Aristotle. It’s only, you were busy…”

“I wasn’t, though.”

“I thought you were.”

“Well, you thought wrong.”

“Not thinking is rather dangerous in your line of work.” He smiled that sly smile of his.

“In your line of work,” I retorted.

“Our,” he said, as if making a huge compromise.

“Well, at least we’ve found something in common after all of these years.” I’ll show that son of a bitch. I gave him a look.

“How long have you known this… Aristotle?”

“Oh, years. Many, many years.”

“Is he why you’re so gorgeous?” He smiled again, his blue eyes twinkling.

Could he have lost his mind? Seriously, I’m asking.

“Why?”

“My contacts in Greece told me he was the one who designed your calling card.”

“What?”

“It was Aristotle who said, after all, that beauty is the best calling card.”

“Oh, of course. Yes. He did. Together with Socrates.”

“Wait, wait a second. Those boobs are Socrates’s idea?”

“Yup.”

“And those legs? Who was the genius who came up with those?”

“A woman, naturally.”

“Go on then, you pain. Tell me.” He teased me like he was a small child.

“Aphrodite,” I replied.

There was a thundering silence.

“Touché,” he conceded. Then he whispered under his breath, “At least it wasn’t Midas.”

“Watch it, or I’ll give you a red card.” I smiled. “You did play basketball as a kid, didn’t you?”

“A red card is soccer, Noa. Not basketball.”

“Same thing. Ten idiots running after a ball.”

“Eleven,” he corrected me again.

“Ten. I’ve never seen the goalie run.”

“Huh. I suppose you’re right.”

The plane’s wheels folded in as though concluding our conversation.

Chapter Nine

“Tell me, Noa,” Eran started.

“What?”

There was a long pause. It wasn’t something unfamiliar when it came to conversations with him. I knew he was already thinking about the next question. His rushing mind had already come up with the possible answer I’d give, though he wasn’t happy with it—so, naturally, he was rather pissed off. It was still only a little as of now, but I knew the real explosion was on the way.

“What is it, Eran?” I repeated, still knowing it was a lost cause and I was fighting a losing battle.

“Tell me, Noa… I have to ask you something—seriously. And you have to be honest, okay?”

“I’ll try,” I said. One-hundred-percent honesty wasn’t something we shared.

“Which leg of yours is nicer, do you think? Left or right?”

“What on earth is up with you?” I couldn’t help but smile. It was uncontrollable. I had no idea how someone who would ask a question like that could ever be in a position to hold any amount of responsibility. It wasn’t as if I were a sixteen-year-old girl anymore.

But I knew the truth. He’d grown up as a boy with everything, used to always getting everything he could ever want. Then, when he was thrown into real life, where getting everything you want wasn’t possible, he decided to fight that and get it all anyway. Initially, something like that doesn’t seem like such a big deal—everyone has to fight for what they want in one way or another—but the thing about him is that he’s a dreamer. He fights for his dreams. And his dreams are… let’s say, ambitious.

“I would say they’re both about the same,” I said, smiling at him with all my pearly-whites on display.

“You can’t be too sure. There are many people, women among them, who have one leg that is a quarter centimeter longer than the other—and they never know it, because there’s no real difference in the day-to-day use of it. Every millimeter with you, Noa, is one less heartbeat.”

“My pulse is low, as it is. A quarter centimeter is a lot. Wouldn’t you feel that kind of a difference?”

“I don’t know. Don’t change the subject. Which leg do you think is nicer?”

“Right—okay?”

“So, can I stroke your left leg?” he asked.

“No.”

“The right one?” He kept on smiling with that damn