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.
“Do I need an appointment to see an old friend?” Hertha was taken aback.
“During business hours, you need an appointment to meet with our VP. If you don’t have one, I can’t let you through,” the receptionist insisted.
Hertha swallowed her rising temper.
When did Alaric get so high–and–mighty that he required appointments?
Whatever, she needed his help, so she held it in.
Maintaining her grin, she told the receptionist, “Sorry, let me just give him a quick call.”
Puiling out her phone, the same one she’d had for three years, Hertha scrolled to Alaric’s number.
She hadn’t dialed it once for three years. She wondered if Alaric still used that number.
Ever since she’d stumbled upon Alaric and Georgia sharing a bed, leaving the hotel that morning in a huff, she hadn’t spoken to him again.
Then her pregnancy came, and fearing the gossip, she cut off all contact with the outside world.
Alaric’s number had been cocooned in her phone for three years.
Now, she was dialing it again after all this time.
Her heart fluttered with uncertainty, not knowing if the call would even connect.
Then the dial tone beeped through.
The call went through!
Alaric hadn’t changed his number in three years!
A few rings later, the call was answered.
Her heart pounded, adrenaline coursing as she scrambled for the right words, but then an unfamiliar male voice came through, “Ms. Kensington, how can I assist you?”
That voice wasn’t Alaric’s!
Baffled for a moment, she asked, “Who’s this? Isn’t this Alaric’s number?”
“Hello, I’m Alistair, Mr. Falconer’s assistant. Mr. Falconer is in a meeting. His phone is with me. Do you need to speak with him?”
Relief washed–over Hertha upon realizing she had a direct line to Alaric.
“I do need to speak with him, but it has to be a one–on–one conversation,” she said.
Alistair glanced at the caller ID showing just one word: Hertha.
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