The Billionaire’s Secret Quartet (Thalassa and Elowen)

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.

I need an appointment to see an old friend?” Hertha

with our VP. If you don’t have one, I can’t

her rising temper.

high–and–mighty

help, so she held it

told the receptionist, “Sorry, let

her phone, the same one she’d had for three years, Hertha scrolled to Alaric’s number.

it once for three years. She

Georgia sharing a bed, leaving the hotel that morning in a

she cut off all contact with the

been cocooned in her phone for

it again after all

not knowing if the call would

tone

call went

number in three