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

Eran, though, is sexy. Very. But the way he says the blacks have done their thing and can leave, pisses me off. To his credit, he shares some genes with our dark-skinned brothers that make women especially happy. He also lasts a lot longer than a minute, which is always refreshing.

And I’m an idiot. Sometimes. A little. but I get over it. So, he can expect a bullseye. For good—not bad.

We live in a given reality. And I will squeeze every bit of good out of it, all without shaking the foundations too badly.

My husband isn’t an issue. I’m divorced. Natasha, the platform, and all that shit most definitely is.

More than any of us, that’s for sure.

I walked through the iron gate of my home and went up the four stairs leading to the front door. As I did, I accidently dialled my voicemail inbox.

Please enter your voicemail pin number, the robotic voice instructed.

Who the hell remembered things like that? And who left voicemails nowadays?

“Noa, hi… it’s Eran. I know we haven’t spoken in a while, but do you fancy a chat? If you do, I’m available on my cell. I’m at the airport in Brussels. Call, if you like.”

I suddenly lost all strength in my legs. A mere split second. I couldn’t even begin to describe the way I felt… not only to you—but to myself, as well.

Chapter Five

“So, how are you, Noa? What have you been up to lately?” Timothy started the conversation.

“What I’m always up to. I work until I’m tired, then get back to work and get tired again,” I said.

“That sounds as if you’re lacking energy. That’s not like you.” Timothy looked at me seriously and angled his upper body in my direction. He moved my Coke farther away—showing just how much he cared whether or not I drank from it or not. He also wouldn’t give a damn if I would enjoy it. I had no doubt about that. He’d also lowered his voice and looked around to check that no one was paying attention.

“What have you been doing to make you so tired?” he asked, injecting his signature amount of cynicism to the question.

“I basically suffer from running around in circles,” I answered tiredly. “Are you familiar something like it?”

“I hand out the prescriptions. Of course I’m familiar with it, Noa.”

“I believe I’m perfectly healthy, Timothy. I’m hardly in need of any prescriptions.”

“I see you’re suddenly a doctor now, too.”

I didn’t appreciate that retort. It reminded me who the real boss was, and that in my line of work, there was no such thing as being fired or quitting. They would simply get rid of you without a hearing, if you know what I mean. In court. Legally. All done behind closed doors. Which basically means that they end your life without giving you half a say about it. And that’s the best case scenario.

“And how are our mutual friends? Have you seen any of them lately?”

“We don’t have any mutual friends,” I replied.

“I actually know someone who might disagree with you there.” His gray eyes bored into me like a bullet on a cold, dreary day.

“I can’t imagine who you’re talking about. Maybe you should share with the class, Timothy. I’m late to pick up Shaked, and I don’t have the patience for guessing games.”

I hated these smart-ass, round-about dialogues. I’m always the one who gets screwed over in the end. And if that isn’t bad enough, I also come across as an utter idiot because I only realize how badly I was screwed a week after the fact. Maybe even a month.

“I’m talking about Eran, Noa.” For a moment it almost seemed like he cared. I wasn’t buying it.

Still, and despite all of that, I allowed myself to take a step back from my personal bubble to remember the things that really mattered. When people get angry, they close up. When they’re sad, it’s the same. Sometimes, it’s true even when you love someone.

At least it’s that way for me.

“What about him?” I asked, thinking about how I still hadn’t called Eran back. He was probably back from Belgium by now. I would not call him back.

“Eran is Eran,” Timothy replied.

“And what is that supposed to mean?” I asked, aiming for nonchalance, despite knowing practically every person in the coffee shop could see right through me.

Go on, answer already, you pain! I tried to make it clear I did not care about his answer at all.

Those tricks never worked on Timothy, so I asked again.

“What’s going on with that idiot?”

“You think he’s an idiot?” Timothy asked.

“No,” I replied.

“Then why do you call him one?” he persisted.

“Because he’s an idiot.”

“You just said he wasn’t,” Timothy said before adding, “Could it be that the idiot isn’t him?”

That was too much for one day.

“I’ll be off then, Timothy. I’m late.”

“All right. Drive carefully. And get back to Eran, Noa. You’re hardly easy to get on with, you know.”

“Oh, and he’s easy as pie. I think maybe I’ll talk to Natasha before our morning meeting. What do you say?”

“I wouldn’t recommend it,” Timothy said as he flagged down a waitress to let another know we were through. “He loves you—you know that. And you also know that you don’t mix business and pleasure.”

“So, what exactly am I supposed to do? Huh?”

“You know that, too. Maybe you should confer with him. He must have some kind of say in this. If you’d let him speak his mind every once in a while, maybe you’d know more. He’s a smart man with some creative solutions.”

“I’ll remember that next time I get off the fourth floor without taking the elevator.”

I got in the car with my temper flaring. I never could hide my anger. Everyone could read it clear as day from my face. A friend of mine once said—the same one from Sinai—that I was prettiest when I was so angry. Let her suffer such prettiness.

And why wasn’t the car starting? What