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.

need an appointment to see an

with our VP. If you don’t have one, I can’t let you through,” the receptionist insisted.

swallowed her

so high–and–mighty

so she

she told the receptionist, “Sorry, let me

had

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

since she’d stumbled upon Alaric and Georgia sharing a bed, leaving the hotel that morning in a huff, she

fearing the gossip, she cut off all contact with

number had been cocooned in her phone for three

dialing it again after all

knowing if the

dial tone beeped

went through!