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Annabeth Chase sat on the edge of her mahogany desk, swinging her legs and admiring the way her light brown boho braids caught the afternoon sun. She looked like a picture of collegiate innocence, but the smirk on her face told a different story. Below her, on the plush cream carpet of her bedroom, lay a stack of shredded legal documents and a very broken, very expensive tactical flashlight.

"He cried, Daddy," Annabeth said, her voice dripping with mock sympathy as she looked at her father. "The last one actually cried when I told him his tactical analysis of the perimeter was about as effective as a wet paper towel. How can you expect me to feel safe with a man who has no emotional backbone?"

Frederick Chase sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He loved his daughter, but her reputation for "decommissioning" security personnel was becoming a problem in the high-society circles of San Francisco. At eighteen, Annabeth was brilliant, sharp-tongued, and possessed a terrifyingly high IQ that she used primarily to dismantle the egos of the men hired to protect her.

"Annabeth, that was the third bodyguard this month," Frederick said, his voice weary. "You can’t keep doing this. I have meetings in Tokyo next week, and I am not leaving you in this house without professional protection. You’re a target, whether you like it or not."

Annabeth hopped off the desk, her five-foot frame radiating an energy that felt much larger. "Then hire someone who isn't an idiot. It’s not my fault you keep finding men who think 'security' means standing near a door and looking constipated."

"I’ve already hired someone," Frederick countered, checking his watch. "And he should be here any minute. He’s different, Annabeth. He’s young, but his record is impeccable. He’s not from the usual firms."

Annabeth rolled her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest. "Let me guess. Another ex-military hard-ass with a buzzcut and a savior complex? I’ll have him packing his bags by dinner."

"We’ll see about that," her father muttered.

A knock sounded at the heavy oak door of the study. Frederick called out for them to enter, and Annabeth braced herself, mentally sharpening her knives. She expected a mountain of a man in a cheap suit.

Instead, a guy walked in who looked like he had just stepped off a surfboard in Malibu.

He was tall—easily six feet—with a lean, athletic build that moved with a casual, feline grace. He wasn't wearing a suit; instead, he wore a well-fitted black t-shirt that showed off tanned arms and a pair of dark tactical trousers. But it was his face that threw her. He had a mess of curly blonde hair that looked perpetually windblown and eyes so blue they looked like the ocean under a clear sky.

He didn't look like a bodyguard. He looked like a distraction.

"Mr. Chase," the newcomer said, his voice a low, pleasant rumble. He offered a hand to Frederick, ignoring Annabeth entirely for a moment. "Percy Jackson. Good to meet you."

"Percy, thank you for coming on such short notice," Frederick said, shaking his hand warmly. "This is my daughter, Annabeth."

Percy finally turned his gaze toward her. He didn't look intimidated. He didn't look impressed. He just looked... amused.

"So you're the terror I heard about," Percy said, a lopsided grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. "I was expecting someone taller. You’re what, five feet? I’ve seen more threatening house cats."

Annabeth felt a hot flash of indignation rise up her neck. Her brown eyes narrowed, and she stepped into his personal space, refusing to look up at him. "Size is irrelevant when I can ruin your entire career with three phone calls and a well-placed observation about your lack of professional decorum."

Percy didn't flinch. He leaned down slightly, bringing his face level with hers. "I don't have a career to ruin, Princess. I'm a freelancer. And honestly? I've been bored lately. I figured watching a bratty genius for a few weeks might be a fun change of pace."

"Bratty?" Annabeth hissed. "Daddy, tell him he’s fired. Right now."

Frederick cleared his throat, looking between them. "Actually, Annabeth, I’ve already paid his retainer. And Percy comes highly recommended by some... unconventional sources. He stays."

"Unconventional sources?" Annabeth repeated, turning back to Percy. "What, did you graduate from the school of looking like a beach bum?"

"Marine rescue and private security for high-risk journalists," Percy said, shrugging. "I've dealt with warlords and category-five hurricanes. I think I can handle a girl with knotless braids and a bad attitude."

Annabeth felt her jaw tighten. She hated that he noticed her hair. She hated even more that he wasn't folding under her glare. Most men were either terrified of her intellect or dismissive of her because of her age and size. This Percy Jackson seemed to be neither.

"Get out," she snapped.

"I’ll be right outside the door," Percy replied cheerfully. "Don't try to climb out the window. The trellis is loose on the left side, and the drop is about twenty feet. You’d break an ankle, and then I’d have to carry you around, which sounds like a lot of complaining I’m not ready for yet."

He turned on his heel and walked out, closing the door behind him with a soft click.

Annabeth turned to her father, her hands shaking with fury. "He is the most arrogant, obnoxious, golden-retriever-looking prick I have ever met."

"He's the only one who didn't ask about your GPA or your security clearances," Frederick noted, picking up his briefcase. "He just asked if you were allergic to anything and what kind of music you liked. Give him a chance, Annabeth. Please."

***

Annabeth lasted exactly two hours before she decided to break him.

She emerged from her room dressed in a silk slip dress and a leather jacket, her braids swinging behind her. Percy was leaning against the hallway wall, tossing a small green ball into the air and catching it. He looked up as she approached.

"Going somewhere?" he asked.

"Out," she said shortly. "I have a standing engagement at a club downtown. It’s private, exclusive, and they don't allow help inside."

Percy pushed off the wall, pocketing the ball. "Cool. I love clubs. The bass helps me think."

"You aren't coming in."

"Watch me."

The drive to the city was silent, mostly because Annabeth refused to speak and Percy seemed perfectly content listening to some indie-rock station at a volume that annoyed her. When they arrived at the club—a sleek, underground spot in the Mission District—Annabeth marched to the front of the line.

The bouncer, a man the size of a refrigerator, nodded to her. "Evening, Miss Chase."

"He’s not with me," Annabeth said, pointing a thumb back at Percy.

The bouncer looked at Percy, who simply held up a small, silver badge and whispered something Annabeth couldn't hear. The bouncer’s eyes widened, and he stepped aside, opening the door for both of them.

"What the fuck was that?" Annabeth demanded as they stepped into the thumping darkness of the club. "What did you show him?"

"Trade secret," Percy said, his hand hovering just inches from the small of her back, guiding her through the crowd without actually touching her. "Stay close. This place is a fire hazard."

"I’m an architecture student, I know it’s a fire hazard," she snapped. "That’s why I like it. It’s structurally defiant."

"It’s structurally stupid," Percy countered, his eyes scanning the room with a sharp intensity that contradicted his relaxed posture. "One short circuit and this whole basement is a toaster."

Annabeth ignored him, heading for the bar. She ordered a ginger ale—she wasn't a drinker, she liked her mind sharp—and watched as Percy stood a few feet away, his back to the bar, watching the room.

"You look like a narc," she yelled over the music.

"And you look like you’re trying too hard to be rebellious," he yelled back.

Annabeth fumed. She spent the next hour trying to lose him in the crowd. She ducked through the VIP lounge, threaded through the dance floor, and even tried to slip into the women's restroom through a side exit. Every time she turned around, he was there—ten feet away, looking bored, but always there.

Finally, she cornered him near the emergency exit.

"Why won't you just leave me alone?" she shouted, her face flushed. "I don't need a babysitter. I’m eighteen. I’m grown. I can take care of myself!"

Percy stepped closer, his blue eyes turning cold. The playful surfer vibe vanished, replaced by something much more dangerous.

"You think this is a game?" he asked, his voice cutting through the noise. "You think your dad pays me because he likes throwing money away? Three months ago, a rival firm tried to bug your car. Last week, someone was caught photographing your bedroom window from the park. You’re not just a girl, Annabeth. You’re the daughter of a man who owns half the tech patents in the country. You’re leverage."

Annabeth blinked, her heart hammering against her ribs. "My dad didn't tell me that."

"Because he doesn't want you to be scared," Percy said, his voice softening slightly. "But you should be smart. You're supposed to be the genius, right? Start acting like it."

He reached out, his fingers brushing against one of her braids where it had fallen over her shoulder. It was the first time he’d touched her, and the contact felt like a jolt of electricity.

"I'm not here to cramp your style," he said quietly. "I'm here to make sure you get to keep having a style. Now, are we done playing hide and seek, or do I have to put you over my shoulder and carry you out of here?"

Annabeth glared at him, but the fire was gone, replaced by a begrudging curiosity. "You wouldn't dare."

"Try me," Percy challenged. "I've carried heavier things than sixty pounds of attitude."

"I am more than sixty pounds!"

"Whatever you say, Wise Girl."

Annabeth froze. "Don't call me that."

"Why not? You think you know everything. It fits." He turned toward the exit. "Let’s go. This music is giving me a headache, and I’m hungry. Does your house have anything besides kale and disappointment?"

Annabeth followed him, her mind racing. She should hate him. He was arrogant, he was bossy, and he was currently making fun of her father’s health-conscious pantry. But as she watched him navigate the crowd, his shoulders broad and his gaze steady, she felt a strange sense of security she hadn't felt with any of the others.

They reached the car, and Percy opened the door for her. As she climbed in, she looked up at him.

"Percy?"

"Yeah?"

"If you ever call me 'Princess' again, I will find a way to hack your bank account and donate all your money to the National Association of Mimes."

Percy laughed, a genuine, bright sound that made his blue eyes crinkle at the corners. "Duly noted. Get in the car, Annabeth."

As they drove back through the foggy streets of San Francisco, Annabeth found herself watching his profile in the dim light of the dashboard. He was a puzzle—a man who looked like a slacker but moved like a soldier.

"So," she said, leaning her head against the window. "Where did you actually learn to do that thing with the bouncer?"

"I told you," Percy said, a smirk playing on his lips. "Trade secret."

"I’ll find out," she promised. "I’m very good at research."

"I’m sure you are," he replied. "But I’m very good at keeping secrets. It’ll be a fun semester, Annabeth."

Annabeth didn't respond, but for the first time in weeks, she didn't feel like fighting. She felt... watched over. It was an annoying feeling, but as she closed her eyes and listened to the hum of the engine, she realized she didn't entirely hate it.

When they arrived home, Frederick was waiting in the foyer. He looked between his daughter’s calm expression and Percy’s relaxed posture with visible surprise.

"Everything alright?" Frederick asked.

Annabeth walked past him, heading for the stairs. "He's still an idiot, Daddy. But he can stay. For now."

She paused on the landing, looking down at Percy, who was already checking the locks on the front door.

"Hey, Seaweed Brain," she called out.

Percy looked up, one eyebrow raised. "Seaweed Brain?"

"It fits," she said with a smirk. "Since your head is clearly full of nothing but water. Make sure you check the kitchen windows. The latches are faulty."

Percy saluted her lazily. "On it, Wise Girl."

Annabeth retreated to her room, a small smile playing on her lips. She had a feeling that breaking Percy Jackson was going to be much harder than she thought—and for some reason, she was looking forward to the challenge.

Downstairs, Percy looked at Frederick and shrugged. "She’s a handful."

"You have no idea," Frederick sighed.

"Oh, I think I do," Percy said, his gaze lingering on the stairs where Annabeth had disappeared. "But she’s sharp. We’ll get along just fine."

As Percy began his first night sweep of the estate, he realized this job was going to be a lot more complicated than he’d anticipated. It wasn't just the threats from the outside; it was the girl inside. Annabeth Chase was a storm in a silk dress, and Percy had always been a very good swimmer.