A/N: Well, I did warn you. COVID happened (is still happening), and my job relates directly to the pandemic and its litany of problems, so while I had no intention of frequent updates, I did intend to upload a new chapter several months ago. Thanks for waiting patiently, and I hope you enjoy this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it.

The end of summer went much the same as the beginning: hot, humid, and all too quickly. It had been several weeks since her unwelcome encounter with the man in the suit, and Annabeth had all but forgotten him and his card. By September, the days waned shorter and the damp heat that rolled off sticky pavement was long gone. It was perhaps the one month of the year when people actually chose what they wanted to wear instead of the weather deciding for them. All but Annabeth, of course. Her uniform rarely changed. Summer was almost always a better situation though, since she could at least pretend her fishnets and micro-skirts were fashion statements to beat the heat rather than a form of employment. It wasn't like people ogled her everywhere she went, but it only took one.

In fact, she often felt lucky for her living situation. She couldn't imagine having to do what she did in any other city, in any other culture. People here were assholes, but they were assholes that respected personal privacy. Bump into some briefcase-carrying exec with too big a paycheck to match his too-big gut? Better be prepared to hear some choice four-letter words. But walk down the street in full drag and a healthy bulge? Not a problem. That's the rule in the city. Do whatever the fuck you want, but don't involve me.

No, it wasn't the looks that made her hate the work. It wasn't even the work, usually. It was the fact that Annabeth knew she was more than that. Normal whores didn't study advanced calculus or read up on the Teutonic Knights during lunch. She hated wasting her potential, degrading herself for money when she knew she could do better. That was the question that people always asked when they found out her profession. "Well why don't you just do something else?" How? With what money, what job experience, what formal education? How was she supposed to compete with college grads half a decade younger with infinitely more experience?

Annabeth paced aimlessly near her usual corner bodega. She hadn't meant to get herself so worked up, but there was absolutely nothing to do when waiting for a client, especially so early in the evening. Usually she'd chat with the other girls on the street, ask about their kids, listen to the endless drama about who took which corner and why it was a bitch move. Today was Monday though, one of the slower in the week, so she had only her pouting mind for company. She wished it were tomorrow already.

From afar she could hear the rumbling of her employer's most prized car. Not exactly the distraction Annabeth was hoping for, but at least he was less violent than her last pimp. The white Toyota Super Charger screeched around a corner and pulled up in front of the bodega. It was probably the single most riced car in all of New York, complete with tacky floor lights, a protruding engine, and windows so tinted it was a miracle he made it two blocks without getting pulled over.

"Hey, there she is," her pimp said, stepping out of the car. He flashed her a toothy grin, showing off a gilded canine. His blonde hair was greased back smoothly, a look that suited his slacks and untucked short-sleeve button-down well.

"Luke," she said indifferently.

"How's my star prize? Good? How's business? How many clients tonight?" he asked.

Annabeth nervously glanced at the people walking past, hoping nobody caught on to what he was implying.

Luke noticed and gave her a knowing look. "Come on now, you know nobody cares. Plus, the pigs in this hood are ours, remember?" He rapped his knuckles against the hood of the car, prompting his partner in crime to step out. Ethan was a second-generation Japanese American covered in graphic tattoos. His parents were extremely conservative.

Luke's eye twitched as the man slammed shut the door and stepped up to the curb. "I'm goin' in, you want some smokes or an Icee?"

Luke waved him away and pulled Annabeth to the side. "So really, how's business lately? You met anyone I should know about?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" She flicked her long blonde curls back and pretended to be distracted by some people across the street.

He stepped closer, nearly whispering now. He smelled like a mix of cigar smoke and expensive perfume. "You know, any associates of mine. Maybe some interesting businessmen I'd be glad to meet? I know you've got the body to attract those old fucks, don't tell me you're turning them down."

He grabbed her chest and squeezed, even as people glanced by on their commutes home.

Annabeth carefully pulled away, trying not to make it obvious what he was doing.

"Listen," he said, grinning at her discomfort. "We all have our role to play in this world. Those senile bags of wrinkly shit need loving too. I know what you can do with those lips of yours, so make sure their needs are met for me, huh?"

She shivered at his tone. It was gross enough having to hear the sleazy shit her customers told her, but Luke was always the master at making her feel disgusting. "I don't turn down money, you know that."

He pulled out a cigar stub and lit it with a spark from an old matchbox. "True, you do have an eye for them, I'll give you that." He took a long drag of the woody smoke, puffing it out in rings. "I want you to do me a favor then."

She shifted her weight nervously. Favors for her was debt. Favors for him was law. "I'm not walking off the island. I told you I don't like it there." She hoped he couldn't hear the quiver in her voice.

Luke waved away the smoke and shook his head. "Of course not, you said no so it's a no."

She'd said no and she'd been answered with a jab to her ribs. Couldn't hit her face, that's where the money was.

He leaned down so she could smell the stink of the cigar on his breath. "I just need you to keep an eye on your clients that's all. Think of it like customer service. You're getting to know them, what they like, what they say. You understand, right kiddo?"

Annabeth could tolerate the sexual harassment from him, or rather had to, but she hated being spoken to like an idiot. Unfortunately, to reveal otherwise would be to allow him into her personal life. She wasn't sure Luke even knew she could read.

"I guess," she said. "But…why? Who am I looking for?"

"What, are you too good for it?" he laughed, slapping her ass. "Don't you worry your pretty little head with that. And don't give me the useless shit, alright? High stakes only, you hear? Good." He stamped out his cigar and kicked it into the street. "Do have fun tonight."

Luke grabbed Ethan who was loitering around a group of homeless men begging for smack. He gave her a wink before hopping back in his ricer and blasting down the road and out of sight.

A year ago, Annabeth would have panicked after what had just transpired, but these days it felt practically common place. Luke had seemed so normal then, like a real businessman despite the nature of the work. He changed fast, or maybe more accurately he decided to show her his true colors. She could still remember when his cheeky smile meant reassurance instead of an impending grab to the ass. Still, despite his degeneracy, he paid better than her last pimp, and his clients were usually of a higher grade.

Before she could linger in her thoughts too long, another car pulled up in front of her corner. For a moment she thought Luke was back to give her more obscure directions, or maybe to cop another feel, but the man who stepped out of the car was the same one from a couple of weeks ago. She almost wished Luke and Ethan were back. Almost.

He was dressed in a suit again, this time dark grey. With the same apprehensive look on his face as last time, he walked over to Annabeth.

"You can't be serious," she said, scowling at his presence.

"I was just in the neighborhood and you looked familiar, thought I'd stop by," he said.

"Oh!" she replied with as much sarcasm as she could muster. "You just happened to be uptown at 11:30 at night and just happened to see me standing here. Well now, that's an explanation that just about covers everything."

Percy frowned and scratched his chin. "You've very rude, you know."

"Heaven forbid," she bit back.

"I just need to know if you had a chance to think about the job offer, that's all. Nothing nefarious about that. I would have called but we don't have your number, obviously."

"Obviously," she said. "Well Prissy, I just have to be honest with you. I don't believe you. I don't think your investment or whatever company is real. I think you're a human trafficker. I think that if I went with you, at any time of day, I would be sold as a slave or dead within a few hours. Please fuck off."

The night was not going well. She turned and walked away, hoping to lose him and possibly find Luke before she really did end up gagged in the back of a van, but he followed her anyway.

"First of all, it's Percy," he said. "Secondly, it's a holding company not an investment company. Our subsidiaries invest, we just manage."

"Don't care, not interested." Annabeth was starting to worry about his persistence, especially since it was clear he was having her followed.

"We pay well though, great benefits and—"

She wheeled around at him, her purse slamming against his side. He smelled rich, or at least what her rich clients usually smelled like. Pressed suit cloth, top-shelf cologne, and that unmistakable yet unidentifiable smell of power. The man was loaded, no doubt. Oddly, underneath all that she could just barely make out the smell of the ocean, like he had just come from a day sailing in the bay. Still, that was no reason to trust him.

"Seriously, this is the last time I tell you. Get the fuck away from me, and leave me the fuck alone," she said. "I don't know who you are or what your sick problem is, but I'm not a part of it. If you don't leave me alone, I'm going to have to tell my boss." Clearly threatening with the police had not worked, so Annabeth hoped he was smart enough to figure her boss meant trouble.

Percy pursed his lips and slowly nodded his head, unsure of how to continue. "I just really think you're qualified for the job."

"Unbelievable," she said, reaching for her phone.

He reflexively held out his hands, taking a step back. "Easy there, just…" He looked worn out. "What can I say that will convince you?"

"How about some fucking honesty for starters." She held the phone ready with Luke's number on screen. Annabeth wasn't eager for him to come back, but there was little choice if he was going to pressure. "Why me?"

Percy folded his arms and frowned at the ground. "I'm not sure how much I should say," he said after a moment. "Let's just chalk it up to a matter of networking."

Annabeth couldn't help but laugh in his face. "So, what, you want to join a gang? Is that it? Or are you some reject trust-fund baby with a synth addiction and now you need a reliable fix?"

"Do I look like that?" he said.

"No," she said admittedly. "But you can't expect me to accept an equally vague answer to an already vague proposition."

"You mentioned your boss like it was a threat. I'd like to know more about him—or, well, CHB would like to know more about him."

For the first time since she'd met him, Annabeth realized the threat he posed. Human trafficking was already a red flag for serious organized crime, but she figured it was her tits not her boss that attracted him to her. If Percy knew who Luke was, then this was well out of her field.

"Sorry, but I'm not that close with him," she said dismissively. "I think you should leave."

He noticed her withdrawal. "Don't pull back, please. You asked for honesty, and I've given you what I can. I'm not trying to upset you. I just think you'd be a lot happier with us."

Somewhere in the back of her mind, Annabeth found the idea of a sympathetic criminal rather amusing.

"What?" she said. "So I can climb the corporate ladder? You're either with the government or some other syndicate, and frankly, whether I sell myself on this corner or on Boardwalk Fucking Avenue makes no difference to me." Annabeth tried to hide the tears forming at the corners of her eyes.

"Who says anything about that?" Percy said. "I'm offering you a desk job, nothing more nothing less. You would work in midtown, pretty close to the UN building. No streets, no weird hours, no whoring."

"Promises are easy to make," she said, digging through her tiny purse for a tissue. "Also easy to break."

"I'll give you fifty thousand in cash right now if you accept the job offer."

Annabeth's breath caught in her throat. Fifty thousand was life changing money. It meant moving away, going to school, living in an apartment big enough for a human being.

No, that wasn't right.

Fifty thousand from the lottery or dropped from god's rosy red ass right into her lap meant her life would change. Fifty thousand from Percy meant indentured servitude, a ball and chain to this lifestyle, and danger once Luke found out. There was no normal life when someone like him offered money.

"Fifty thousand won't do much good when I'm floating down the East in a body bag."

"Sixty thousand then," he urged.

"Did you think it was a matter of amount?" She looped the purse around her shoulder. "I don't want your money."

"Then a contract," he offered. "A short-term legal document where at the end of it you get the fifty thousand and we never contact you again."

Annabeth had to give him credit for his persistence. "As if the word legal means anything to you." She paused, glancing down the street. "We shouldn't be talking about this here. If Luke comes back he'll kill you."

Percy sighed, his windswept jet-black hair dancing in the breeze. "If you say so." He stepped back onto the street, looking into her eyes under the glow of the lamps. "But please think about it this time, seriously. Not many girls like you get offers like this."

He was right. Most girls like her had a meth addiction before their second child.

He reached out and put another card in her hand, this one with a phone number gilded into it. "If I don't hear from you by the end of the week, then I'll assume it's a no."

"It was already a no, genius," but she slipped the card into her back pocket anyway.

"Well, goodbye then."

Annabeth watched him drive away. It was barely midnight, but it felt like it had been hours since the night started. She was exhausted and afraid, yet there were still clients to find if she were to avoid punishment from Luke. Annabeth pulled out her phone, hoping some of her online profiles had attracted an easy customer for the night. In-calls were more expensive, so it helped weed out the unhygienic.

Two missed calls. One from an unknown number, one from a semi-regular client. She had him tagged as a femdom fetishist, or in other words, an easy night.

Shaking the evening's events out of her mind, Annabeth walked toward the subway, eager to end her night early.