Disclaimer: No one owns Percy Jackson other than Rick Riordan, including me.
Act Naturally
Annabeth POV
The apartment reeked of forgotten dishes and ancient pizzas. When I entered, the aroma struck me like a bat, though what disturbed me more was that I had to push the objects behind the door to make room for myself to enter.
A tilted TV in the corner playing an episode of Game of Thrones was accompanied by a lit candle by its side, the wick on it burning at a dangerous height.
"Thalia!" I screamed, stepping over strewn pants and shirts. The clothes acted as footprints to her room, though how she ignored her path of destruction, I would never understand. "You were supposed to be ready!"
"Yup!" a muffled voice replied. "Jus brushing my teeth!"
"I don't want to be late, Thals!" I screamed back in an effort to rush her. As I yelled, I began stepping toward her direction, and, in an uncommon display of ignorance, I stepped into a puddle of spilled coffee.
After cursing loudly for a minute, Thalia stepped out from her room, dressed in blue jeans and a cobalt blue top. Proper attire, just like I had begged her to wear.
"Serves you right for making me do this," she said, straightening her top. "A damn chauffeur isn't my job description." She dropped a few paper towels onto the puddle, then grabbed her keys and began walking to the door.
"You don't have a job," I pointed out. "And this place better be at cleaner when I move back in." Thalia grinned smugly, locking the door behind us.
"It'll be in tip top shape, Miss Chase," she retorted mockingly. "Shall we get to the tower, then? You have a job to apply for."
I rolled my eyes, then followed her to the car.
Two weeks prior, I had filled out an application for a part-time architectural position at the Atlantis building. Needing the experience, I figured I'd give it shot. I was in search for a salary, and I knew I needed to play to my strengths. That being said, when I received a call back asking me for an interview, I was more than a little surprised.
Of course, the building wasn't exactly walking distance, and without a vehicle, I relied on Thalia to provide for me, which was a rare occurrence.
"Remind me, does your mother know about this?" Thalia asked, starting the car. As she backed out, I let out a bitter laugh. My mother had a history with the company, and not one that would help me.
Athena Chase happened to be a world-renowned architect, despite her status as a freelancer. Her fame, which had caused her to work with only the best architects, led her to collaborate with Atlantis. The project was the only black spec on her spotless record. Caused by heated arguments with higher ups and disagreements with partners, the project ended up a failure. She blamed the company, specifically the founder, and whenever the company came into conversation, a rant would ensue.
"Not a clue," I answered. "Nor do I plan to tell her anytime soon. She'd disown me in a heartbeat."
"Two heartbeats," Thalia corrected as she pulled up to a stop sign. "Give her some credit."
"I have to pave my own path," I said. "Atlantis is extremely prestigious, and having it on a resume would be the equivalent of striking credential gold."
"And your name doesn't carry that?" Thalia pointed out.
"Chase isn't exactly unique," I argued. "And I'm not mentioning my mother in the interview."
The application had asked for my parents' information, but legally, I decided to use my stepmother.
"Alright, if you say so," Thalia said, changing stations on the radio. "Hey, what'd you think of last night?"
My mind skipped back to the dinner, and the memories replayed in my mind. "Tenders were slightly soggy," was all I said.
"I meant Grover's friend," Thalia specified, eyeing me peculiarly. "What do you make of him?"
"Decent guy, I suppose. He fit in well."
"Not with everyone," Thalia pointed out. "You saw Luke."
She had a point. Luke, a close friend for quite some time, had been the opposite of his usual self. Most of the time, he played the easygoing and relaxed leader-type to the group. Being the oldest, he was naturally the one we all looked up to. But the night prior, he appeared to have been a judgmental bystander.
Unlike most of the group, Thalia and I were aware of Luke's personal problems. Anger issues and psychological disorders had plagued him since childhood, but most of the time, he'd kept them at bay. But last night, his anger seemed to have taken over, and apparently, I wasn't the only worried one.
"Just uncomfortable," I defended, trying to rationalize the display. "He forgot Grover was bringing his friend to dinner."
"You certainly seemed shocked to see him." Thalia had a smile playing at her lips, her eyes hidden behind sunglasses as she kept her head forward.
I was taken aback, but only for a moment. "Meaning?"
"You knew he was coming to dinner," Thalia explained, "yet your eyes nearly popped out at the sight of him."
I shrugged my shoulders. "It slipped my mind at the time," I lied. I never could have anticipated that the man I met at the diner could have been Grover's best friend.
For some odd reason, I hadn't mentioned the diner experience to anyone. After the occurrence, I acknowledged how strange it seemed. However, it was the first time I had enjoyed a dinner in a long while, as I had spent most of my summer with my father's family. Somehow, a stranger had been warmer than my own blood, and my heart had clung to the experience.
"A lapse of memory?" Thalia questioned. "Annabeth Chase, you must think me an ignorant fool. I know you better than that. Was it his appearance? Because I must admit, he's a bit more attractive than I expected."
"You thought he'd be a hippy disfigurement," I argued. "A well-groomed horse would have been more attractive than your prediction."
"Fair point. Still, you haven't validated your reaction."
"Take a left," I said. "And I'll admit, he's different than I expected." I'd also thought Grover's friend would be a tree-hugger like himself, dressing flamboyantly and constantly mentioning nature. "But I bugged out because I thought I'd seen him somewhere before." I was telling the truth, but to a certain extent.
"He is familiar," Thalia agreed, to my surprise. "I can't put a finger on it, though. Maybe he's a private investigator."
"Investigating who?" I inquired.
"Leo Valdez," Thalia said with more than a hint of disgust.
"Then he failed miserably, cause Leo wasn't there."
"It's called reconnaissance."
"It's called your imagination."
She pulled into a parking spot labeled Visitors. Near the entrance, we both sat in a moment of silence as we watched bystanders walking in and out of the building.
"Impressive," I muttered.
"Snotty," Thalia mumbled, referring to the formal wear. "You don't need a suit and tie to design a building."
"They also deal in different projects," I argued.
"Well, get going," Thalia announced suddenly. "What time should I be back?"
"I'll call," I said, stepping out of the car. "Have fun roaming the town."
Closing the door behind, I walked up to the entrance, glancing back for only a moment to see Thalia driving away. Slightly nervous and completely alone, the only thing I could do now was face the future.
Once I stepped into the building, I could understand how the company earned its prestige. The lobby was brilliantly designed, utilizing natural lighting from the encompassing windows that made up most of the surrounding walls. Keeping with a classical style, marble columns and flooring contrasted against a front desk which brilliantly masqueraded obsidian. Several lounge chairs were strewn across the room, a TV displaying the company's products and history for every organized seating arrangement. At the center of it all was a marvelous, grandiose fountain spouting crystal-clear water into a pond below. The pond itself held exotic fish, the colors of each breathtakingly unique.
After staring at the fountain for an embarrassing length of time, I walked to the front desk, where a cheerful middle-aged woman stood at the ready.
"How may I help you, ma'am?" the receptionist inquired kindly. Her smile was warm, unlike nearly every other receptionist I'd ever dealt with.
"I have a meeting with Mr. Whitaker," I answered. "I'm Annabeth Chase."
The receptionist's eyes lit up. "Ah, just a moment please."
Despite having a phone within arm's reach, she walked away from the desk, taking a few steps to a wall phone. Far enough for it to be unintelligible, her words flowed from her mouth as her lips curled into a smile.
Setting the phone down, she returned to her position. "It appears Mr. Whitaker has taken a sick day, ma'am. If you do not mind, Mr. McCartney is willing to step in."
I nearly choked on thin air. "Mr. McCartney?" I asked. Poseidon McCartney was the CEO of the company, and had been one of the original founders.
"Yes, that would be his name," she said. "He didn't want you to think the company just forgets those with bad luck. If you are willing to meet with him, he is on floor 12, room 101. I highly doubt you'll miss it, though," she laughed, pointing toward the elevator.
I nodded in appreciation, words unable to leave my mouth. As I strode across the main lobby, I began to calm myself. Breathing evenly, I clicked the up button and awaited the cab.
Surely it isn't the Mr. McCartney, a voice in my head said. He wouldn't be bothered with a part-time job interview.
When the doors opened, it was surprisingly empty. Thanking the gods above, I clicked 12 and settled myself properly, regaining any crack in composure.
Even if it was him, he would never accept a star-struck college student. I had to collect myself and appear normal, which wouldn't be too difficult. My brain tended to overtake my emotions, no matter how stressful the situation.
The elevator door opened, revealing a small corridor. To the right, the hallway split into two, making it a puzzle. Luckily, within eyesight to the left was another receptionist desk. It stood before two relatively large doors which were encrusted with sparkling sapphire tridents.
I walked to the desk, my eyes still studying the doors. Seeing no one at the desk, I rang the bell which sat innocently atop a stack of papers.
Within seconds, a heavyset man walked around the corner, lifting the guard and standing opposite of me. "Annabeth Chase?" he inquired, picking up a clipboard and reading from it.
"Yes, sir," I answered plainly. The man had a ketchup stain on his tie, along with wrinkled dress pants and mismatched socks.
"He'll see you right away, Miss," he nodded, motioning towards the doors. "Go ahead and walk in."
"Thank," I muttered, sheepishly stepping away and walking to the doors. Standing in front of them, I felt minuscule, as if I was hardly a crumb on a loaf of bread.
Knocking firmly, my innate maturity took over, and I straightened my back to stand proud. After hearing a welcoming voice from the other side, I pushed the doors open widely, allowing me to see what they were concealing.
Put bluntly, the office wasn't grandiose. Instead, it appeared humbling. Adorned with two regular sized fish tanks holding nothing more than the common pet fish, the rest of the office held nothing more than a coffee table with five seats and a desk with a chair on each side.
Mr. McCartney sat on the other side of the desk, reading something off the computer screen. He was dressed in a white suit, a brilliant turquoise tie hanging from his neck. Glasses laid comfortably atop his head, his squinting eyes hinting that he stubbornly refused to use them.
When the squinting eyes turned to me, they opened enough for me to see a familiar set of sea-green eyes. "Miss Chase," he said. "Pleasure to meet you. Please, take a seat."
I did as told, sitting up straight with my hands laced across my lap. Setting them over my case, I awaited his word.
"You are applying for a part-time job, if I'm not mistaken," he said, his eyes squinting once more at the screen.
"Yes, sir," I confirmed, hoping my voice sounded strong.
"To earn proper experience as an understudy to a professional architect," he assumed, no longer reading from the screen. He was smiling warmly, and I began to grow suspicious. "And to begin your endeavor in the art of devising significant structures. I'll bet a salary is sought after, as well." The humor in his voice masked something, but I couldn't place my finger on it.
"I believe in my ability," I said confidently. "To sharpen it, I realize that I need to learn under a mentor. Not only that, but I need to design for the real world, not just a college course. Experience is needed, and a beginning is what I desire most. And yes, I do want a salary."
He chuckled, leaning back in his chair and momentarily rubbing his graying beard. I'd pressured him to be in his late forties, but hearing his coarse laughter, he would have to be older.
"Bold," he said, retaining a grin. "And accurate. Everyone needs a base to build their career upon, and this company happens to be very tempting to those building theirs both literally and figuratively. But tell me, why should I hire you?"
Before I was able to respond, he continued. "I mean, there are equally talented people out of college, offering me full time work at such low prices you would think it illegal. What makes you different?"
I evaluated the question, rolling it over in my mind and expanding it in every direction. The easy answer would be my mother, but I would rather take a bath in the fish tank two feet away from me than use that. No, I would answer with what I believed in.
"I offer you my brain and my determination," I offered. "I will never treat a project with anything less than the utmost importance, nor will I submit work that does not go beyond satisfactory standards. My time will be completely devoted to the job, and should I become distracted or less passionate, you'll be the first to know."
"So, you're not looking for long term?" he questioned.
I shook my head. "No, sir. If I feel that I am under-performing, I will resign from my post with gratefulness towards the opportunity you have given me."
His eyes widened, studying me carefully. "You're certainly honest," he said. I nodded. Honesty was something I prided myself upon. Very rarely did I lie, and when I did, it was for what I saw as necessary.
"You must forgive me, then," he continued, sitting up and resting his elbows on the table, his hands intertwined. "I must admit, I have committed that folly. Mr. Whitaker has taken only three sick days in sixteen years, and today was not one."
Confusion struck me, and by his facial expression, I must not have been able to hide it.
"See, I wanted to interview you for a specific reason," he announced. "I want to offer you a slightly different job."
Rising from his chair, he grabbed a cylinder of fish food from his bookcase, walking to the nearest fish tank and sprinkling a cap full into the water.
"Understand that should you decline this proposition, you will still receive your desired job," he said, shaking the container. "Consider this a different path down the same road, but with a higher salary."
"I have the job," I said suddenly. I cursed myself immediately, embarrassed by my lack of restraint.
"Oh yes, your application was undeniably brilliant. No matter how long you plan to stay with this company, it would be a fool's act to turn you down." He turns back to me, looking into my eyes. "Your salary, should you decline my offer and take the desired position, will be $21 an hour."
"You haven't made your proposition, sir," I pointed out.
He chuckled once more, then went to feed the other tank. "I've recently given my son a position here at the company that, although I still deem it fitting, requires him to be polished quite a bit."
"I thought Triton had been a higher up for years," I said.
"Yes, he is," Mr. McCartney confirmed. "The son I am talking about is child born out of wedlock. A bastard, if you will."
He shook the container as he explained. "Understand that roughly 25 years ago, my wife and I discreetly separated. For five years, we simply interacted on a public level, such as at dinners or charity events. During those five years, I fell for another woman, and such was that a son was born."
He rubbed his temples for a moment, his emotions getting the better of him. "Only recently have I learned of his existence. Immediately, I demanded his presence by my side. Problem is, he hasn't had much experience in a world like mine."
"And what exactly are you asking of me?" I inquired.
He smiled brightly. "To put it poetically, I wish for you to grow with him," he explained. "Everyone around him is older and more experienced, making it impossible for him to relate to them. You, on the other hand, are his age, and with your basic understanding of the job, you can not only learn by application, but also teach him along the way."
"I was looking for experience, sir," I said. "How will I receive this if I am, excuse any rudeness, babysitting your son."
Poseidon laughed once more. "You are very blunt, Miss Chase, and I appreciate that. I assure you, my son will not take up all of your time; rather, he'll allow you to fully understand your work in a way that is only gained through the teaching process." He tilted his head, then continued.
"Of course, I forgot to mention that you will still be an understudy of a professional. Your work would be the same as the other job, only a metaphorical cherry on top."
"What's the bonus?" I asked.
"Thirty dollars an hour and a bigger office," he answered. The money certainly appeared to be a significant incentive, and I would love the extra space.
"You know my hours, correct?" I said.
Mr. McCartney nodded. "Afternoons on Tuesday's and Thursday's, full days on Monday and Friday. Suitable, I think."
Mentally, I was studying a pros and cons list, my mind unable to decide. The money appeared convincing, but the extra responsibility was slightly worrying. And if I should come to blows with the boss' son, I doubted that my job would be secure.
Then again, Poseidon had made a fair point. Teaching requires a better, if not perfect, understanding of the material. In classes, I thrived on teaching because of this reason. Between the two, I knew that when I left the company, the latter would prove to be more beneficial.
"Might I see a picture of your son," I asked. Having a special gift in reading people, seeing a picture of the man would allow me to at least have an initial impression.
Mr. McCartney walked behind his desk, reaching into a drawer and pulling out a frame. "I only recently acquired it, so I haven't quite put it out," he explained.
He handed the picture over, and when I saw who it was, my heart dropped.
"His name's Percy Jackson," Poseidon described as I stared. "He's a New York native, which should justify the Yankees t-shirt."
Before my mind could decide, my voice spoke. "I'll take up your offer, sir."
Internally, I smacked myself. But it was too late to reconsider. Mr. McCartney rose from his chair, a smile plastered dangerously wide across his face.
"Thank you, Miss Chase," he said, shaking my hand. "My assistant will email you all the necessary paperwork, so need not worry about that today. When are you willing to start?"
By that time, I myself had risen, and both of us were a foot away from the door. "Next week is perfect for me," I said.
"Then next week it is," he said. Opening the door, I realized that compared to the doors, he wasn't nearly as small. "Until then, Miss Chase. If you have any questions, please feel free to stop by."
I shook his hand once more, his unrelenting smiling infecting me. When I stepped into the empty elevator once more, a grin remained on my face. Dialing my phone, I heard a familiar courtesy answer from Thalia.
"How'd it go?" she asked first. I thought of how to respond, then simmered my thoughts.
"I'll tell you in the car," I said, the floor numbers decreasing at a perpetual rate. "And trust me, I have a lot to tell."
