The Billionaire's Secret Quartet

Thalassa shook off her funk and asked curiously, “How?”

“We gotta visit Dr. Funke.”

“But Dr. Funke won’t even give us the time of day,” Thalassa lamented.

“Didn’t Dr. Funke promise Alaric a dinner to sign some contract or something? We can just go with Alaric,” Hertha suggested. “But…”

“No buts about it, leave this to me,” Hertha proclaimed, her indignation fueling her resolve.

The next morning, Hertha made her way to the Falconer Group, striding with determined steps toward the elevator.

No sooner had she reached the reception desk than she was stopped, “Miss, may I ask who you’re here to see?” Every corporate receptionist is like a human radar for new faces.

Spotting an unfamiliar one, they intercept, preventing any potentially ill–intentioned visitor from disturbing the upper echelons of the company.

Hertha had to pause, but she put on a cheery smile and told the receptionist, “I’m an old friend of your VP. Just need to chat with him about something.”

“Do you have an appointment?” the receptionist asked, her expression stern, leaving no room for flexibility.

see an

meet with our VP. If you don’t

her rising

high–and–mighty

so she held it

her grin, she told the receptionist, “Sorry, let me just give him a quick

one she’d had for three years, Hertha scrolled to Alaric’s

it once for three years. She wondered if Alaric still used that

Georgia sharing a bed, leaving the hotel that morning in a huff, she hadn’t spoken to him

and fearing the gossip, she cut off all

in her phone

dialing it again after all

knowing if the call

the dial tone beeped

went through!