Harold's POV
I watched Quentin yank his pants on, his body clearly aching from whatever activities had been interrupted. He clasped his hands behind his back and positioned himself on the far side of the bed. "What's your game here? Toby spilled everything this afternoon, and now you show up tonight wanting to make a deal?"
I shot him a sideways glance, waiting until his pants were properly secured before removing my hand from Phoebe's eyes. "Mr. Alberto, you seriously think I'm powerless without the Bailey name backing me?"
The moment her vision cleared, Phoebe completely ignored the tense exchange between Quentin and me. She started wandering around the bedroom like she owned the place.
With shocking ease, she hoisted two heavy armchairs and shoved them against the door. Then she grabbed the two unconscious foreign women—one in each hand—and dragged them over to create an additional barrier at the entrance.
