"Dad, this is completely untrue!" Alia exclaid frantically, desperate to clear the air. "There’s nothing going on between and Ronan!"
Ronan nodded from the driver’s seat. "That’s right, Mr. Kentwood. But truthfully, it might be better to pretend that there is. At least everyone wouldn’t think you’re still angling for Matteo. And I’ve been in enough romantic scandals that this is just a blip on my radar."
"Who knew your manwhore days would actually co in handy?" Cherry marveled, then she realized Alia’s father was listening and coughed. "Sorry for my crudeness, Mr. Kentwood."
"I’ve heard worse in my youth," Alia’s father said dryly, but his eyes were serious as he gazed at Alia, who wanted to sink into her seat. "I’ve taken a quick glance at all the dastardly articles that erged about Matteo Montgory, and all I can say is that he should have left you alone. All he did was bring you grief!"
"Dad, he gave a job. He was the one who saved your life!" Alia exclaid, feeling indignant on Matteo’s behalf. The tabloids have painted a terrible picture of her, but since this was her father, he would obviously believe Matteo was the person at fault.
"So?" Michael Kentwood raised an eyebrow. "Does him saving my life an I must offer you up to him like a lamb for slaughter? Ronan, Matteo Montgory is a powerful man, is he not?"
"That he is," Ronan said, wondering what he was getting at.
"Then why has he not cleared up the rumors between my daughter and himself? Instead, his wishy-washy behavior has dragged everyone down into the mud! Look at this other heiress clinging onto him!" Michael seethed, his face slowly turning red.
It was one thing to offer his daughter a job and a place to stay, but if everything was platonic, he should have simply said so.
And if he had romantic inclinations for his daughter, he should have resolved the ss with the Hawthornes first and foremost!
"Dad, rember your blood pressure!" Alia warned, half-afraid her father was going to have yet another heart attack.
Michael Kentwood sucked in a few deep breaths to calm himself down. Cherry and Ronan exchanged a look, both thinking the sa thing.
Matteo would have an uphill climb ahead of him if he wished to get together with Alia. Her father positively detested him!
Eventually, they arrived at Ronan’s apartnt, and Ronan and Cherry wasted no ti in helping Alia and her father settle in. It helped that they didn’t have much to begin with, and Ronan gave them a quick tour of the house.
He pointed to a closed door. "This is your room now, Alia. As long as you don’t smoke or drink or basically act like a frat boy inside it, it should be fine. He’s away for a few weeks."
"That’s an oddly specific requirent," Alia said. "Did you have anything to do with that rule?"
"Guilty as charged," Ronan said, completely unapologetic.
He led her father to the guest room, which also had a small bathroom attached to it.
"If there’s anything you need, please let know. I’ve already bought a few non-slip mats and installed a handlebar in the bathroom, along with a stool just in case."
Michael Kentwood was touched. This youngster had common sense and consideration! Frankly, this Ronan was looking like a better match for Alia by the very second, manwhore days be damned.
anwhile, Alia could only sigh. She knew what went on in her father’s head. Hopefully, he would not go overboard with his matchmaking attempts― it wouldn’t do to make Ronan feel awkward in his own ho!
***
The rest of the week passed by in a depressing blur. The issue of Emline Hawthorne’s pictures was even reported by broadcast news, and Alia’s own na was easily dragged into the conversation.
It was tough to keep her father out of the loop, for fear of worsening his condition, especially when Michael Kentwood was intent on getting every bit of news and arguing with people online.
Finally, Alia had managed to wrangle him into bed for an afternoon nap while Ronan was back at the office. She slumped against the sofa and sighed.
No one had figured out she was here, but it was only a matter of ti before so reporter connected the dots. Even though Ronan said he was fine with notoriety, Alia doubted anyone would be happy at the hordes of paparazzi camped at his doorstep.
What if one of them dared to break in?
Just as she was trying to think of another solution to her housing woes, she heard the sound of soone attempting to pry open the door. Imdiately she leapt, her brain jumping to the worst-case scenario― there was an intruder trying to enter the apartnt!
She quickly grabbed the nearest thing to use as a weapon. In this case, it was an ornantal paperweight, and she knew she could fling it with enough force to incapacitate a man.
Alia held a breath. After what seed like an eternity of fiddling, Alia heard the sound of a muffled curse. The door finally opened, revealing a brown-haired man in a long trench coat.
Alia flung the projectile in her hands straight for his head. Said man reached out and caught it instinctively, as though he was used to objects thrown at him.
"Ronan, what is the aning of this?" He demanded before his eyes registered Alia’s presence.
Alia couldn’t help but notice they were the very sa shade of green as Ronan’s own, albeit more exhausted. His eyebrows shot up, the five o’clock shadow on his chin adding to his appearing maturity.
While his hair might’ve been previously styled in the morning, by the ti the late afternoon ca, it was already a stylishly disheveled ss. The light brown curls looked like swirls on a bronze fra, adding to the brilliance of his irises due to the contrast of colors.
"Wait... you’re not Ronan." Exhaustion imdiately fled his eyes as he straightened up, his posture turning stiff, adding to his height. "Who the hell are you?"
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