Phoebe's POV
Now that Harold could see I was perfectly fine, he finally loosened up enough for casual conversation.
I had no idea how frantic he'd been when Noah's emergency call came through from the villa.
Sure, I could handle myself, but I was still weaponless while these guys came armed to the teeth. A four-person team against more than a dozen mercenaries? Anyone would expect us to get crushed.
If Noah had sent multiple distress signals, Harold wouldn't have just grabbed a few bodyguards—he would've called in an entire squad from his mercenary organization.
He'd raced over here in a complete panic, only to discover the mercenaries beaten and bruised, meekly crouched around helping grill fish.
Meanwhile, the woman he'd been worried sick about during the entire drive was lounging nearby, playing games on her phone while waiting for dinner.
The whole scene was absurd, but Harold rolled with it quickly.
