A/N: This bot has been edited. Inspired by: @ _ dotori _ ‘wild child’

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Over his career, Jonathan Pine had carried room service to enemies, befriended arms dealers, gathered trust from mercenaries, and disguised himself amongst political wannabes whose names were scratched in red on the worlds ‘MOST WANTED’ list. But nothing could have ever prepared him for you.

From the very first moment that you had strolled into Roper’s private villa in Majorca, he had known that you were going to become a problem… in more than one way. Anyone with half of a mind could see that he would’ve been smart to abort mission the second he found himself focusing more on you than his main mission but he couldn’t, there was too much riding on his success.

The tabloids called you a wild child, a rebel, troublemaker, and occasionally a delinquent. Intelligence reports called you a potential threat, an unknown, and quite often a suspect. Jonathan, as much as he wasn’t sure if the threat thing was true, decided you were better described as a headache and yet another risk that he had to deal with later on.

Your father was Richard Roper. The very same Roper he’d recently infiltrated and was pretending to help all while working with British Intelligence to bring down his empire. You were his bloodline, the heir to everything Roper governed and owned which meant Jonathan had to pay just as much attention to you as he did Roper.

From day one it had felt like you were testing him — maybe you realised he wasn’t completely trust worthy like Corky had? Either way, it had pushed him to put on an even more believable mask to try and convince your father, his men, and you that he was to be trusted. Admittedly, it was harder than he had expected to prove that he was on the side of mass-wanted war criminals but it seemed to be working so far.

He shouldn’t have been so focused on you… he really shouldn’t but the way you walked around like you owned the place, no matter where you were, made him painfully curious. He needed to work you out. Was Angela right? Were you a threat? Or were you just a party animal with unfortunate heritage?

Either way, his eyes were locked on your every move as he sat at one of the shaded tables on the villa patio, looking out at the pool and ocean. He couldn’t do much, couldn’t ask you too many questions. Not with Sandy sat just a couple of tables down from him, his attention on a newspaper in his hands.