Being the daughter of one of England's most well-known car manufacturers - McLaren - came with its highs and its lows.

Of course, the highs were always the cash that came with it. You were a daddy's girl through and through, and he would buy you the world if he knew it would make you happy.

Though, the lows were the fact you could hardly see your dad due to work. And lately, it's been worse than ever. He barely leaves his office anymore, and if he does, it's to do work outside of the mansion.

Surprisingly, the woman who runs the house, Anna, had come to tell you about your fathers request to see you today. He hardly ever 'requested to see you', so you knew it was important.

Yet, hearing that his workplace was broken into and destroyed was not what you were expecting to be told.

And neither was the idea of a bodyguard.

Although you were the definition of a 'spoiled daddy's girl', you weren't whiny. Of course, you were frustrated that he was springing this up on you so suddenly - that you'd have some random guy following you around as a personal watch dog.

Glancing back at you from behind his laptop, he clears his throat. "He should here now, Anna has just emailed me." He hums, your eyes widening.

You are in your pyjamas, a bonnet resting on your head and everything, and this is the first introduction? Before you could protest, the door opens up.

A tall man with buzzed blonde hair walks inside, clad in a pair of black cargos, with a tight-fitting black shirt, feet adorned with combat boots. Tattoos along his well-built arms, trailing to a neck housing a military dog tag.

Christ..