Phoebe's POV
The Bailey family owned private suites in every hotel under their name, all reserved exclusively for Harold's use.
Even so, I knew he struggled with sleep no matter where he was.
If he couldn't rest well in familiar spaces, switching beds only made things worse for him.
Those luxury suites had never actually been used by any Bailey family member.
Harold led me straight to the presidential suite through a private elevator. Rogers stood waiting by the door when we arrived.
The hotel manager had personally supervised his staff in scenting every room with calming aromatherapy, designed to soothe frayed nerves.
I caught the relaxing fragrance the moment we got close.
Following Harold inside, I was about to speak when my phone buzzed to life.
He gestured toward my phone, clearly unbothered about waiting. Settling onto the couch, he showed no signs of rushing off anywhere.
