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.

appointment to see an

you need an appointment to meet with our VP. If you don’t have one, I can’t let you through,” the receptionist

swallowed her rising temper.

get so high–and–mighty that he required appointments?

his help, so she held it

the receptionist, “Sorry, let me just

out her phone, the same one she’d had for three years, Hertha scrolled

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

leaving the hotel that morning in a huff, she hadn’t spoken to him again.

her pregnancy came, and fearing the gossip, she cut off all contact with the outside

been cocooned in her phone for

it again after all this

heart fluttered with uncertainty, not knowing if

the dial tone beeped through.

went