The Architect [Pipabeth AU]

o n e: i get a new job assignment

A N N A B E T H

The heels of my shoes clicked as I walked towards my black apartment door. The glossy black tiles on the floor shown from their fresh coat of wax. It was nine pm on a Monday, the same time I always walked down this hallway every week. I was always in my office for longer than I should've been. I was always putting in extra hours.

"And she scheduled an appointment when?" I asked, my phone pressed to my ear. I brushed a stray strand of my curly blonde hair behind my ear.

"I know it's last minute, I'm sorry," my secretary said. "I assumed you would take it anyways- nice girl really. The type of design she's looking for is right up your alley."

"Oh, it's no problem," the black folders in my hand pressed against my side. "I just need to mentally prepare myself for another..."

"Right," my secretary cut in. "Well, Wednesday at seven am."

"Bright and early," I said as I slipped the key card into my apartment door. My tone reflected annoyance, but I didn't mind early. I was a morning person. Scratch that. I was an all day person. I could run off of 2 hours of sleep and be fine- and I did so often.

"My apologies," my secretary said. "But you're upcoming, Annabeth. You're new and you're breaking the scene. And your work is amazing. All the Hollywood A-List celebrities want your designs. All the Wall Street millionaires are booking you like crazy."

"Who am I working with again?" I asked. I pushed open the door and walked through the threshold.

"Piper McLean," Julie replied.

Piper McLean.

It rang a bell.

"And my flight?" I took my heels off and walked to my sleek black couch barefoot.

"To San Francisco," she said. "Tomorrow, eleven am."

I bit back the rising uneasiness at the words. At the idea. San Francisco. "Thank you, Julie."

"Anytime," she said with finality. "Anything else you need?"

"That's about it." City lights poured through the tinted floor to ceiling windows, spreading glossy mosaics across the shiny floor. I opened my design laptop and the light blue Greek delta, the symbol of Daedalus, glowed on the top.

"Have a good night, Annabeth," Julie said.

"You too, Julie." I bade her goodnight. The phone line went dead.

Here's the thing about designing for celebrities: Hollywood's finest are not very fine. Egotistical, arrogant, impossible to please. Hotheads that are almost as prideful as I am.

And I hate working for them.

The pay was great. It bolstered my ratings, it looked good for my name. But other than that, I hated it.

The story of my life.

Career before self.

That's how I was here, in a penthouse above New York City. That's how I graduated from New York University Engineering. That's how I got my masters at Stanford, while also taking my first job with a company in Maryland, thanking whatever gods were out there that I was away from my father and stepmom. And I worked my way up. At age twenty three, I had broken impossible barriers. I moved to New York and transferred to one of the biggest architectural design companies in the country. At age twenty five, I was the top rookie in the field- and, no way, a girl. A successful architectural engineer that was a girl? Now, at age twenty six, I was on the way to being one of the top designers in the game.

I scrolled through diagrams, color schemes and structure supports before heaving a sigh. Today was Monday. I would leave tomorrow, Tuesday, at eleven am on a flight across the country. Piper McLean was even paying for transportation. I was remodeling her no doubt brand new Californian mansion for a hefty price. These Hollywood people went extremely far to get what they wanted. And if it didn't work, they normally pitched one hell of a hissy fit.

But no matter who I was working for, I always made sure to do a good job.

"Annabeth," I muttered to the empty walls. "What are you getting yourself into?"

I opened a new tab and went to my search engine. When Google's home page opened, I typed in two words. It's always good to come prepared. You'd be surprised how much you can design profile somebody by googling them. It was something that I was good at that made me even more of an asset in this career field: I could read people.

'Piper McLean.'

I skipped the usual websites and social media accounts, I'd go back to those later. I started to read from the bottom up.

'Piper McLean, daughter of Tristan McLean breaks music industry.' Now, that's a name I'd heard of. Tristan McLean was one of the top movie stars in the country. Maybe that's why she sounded so familiar.

'Piper McLean signs record deal.'

'Piper McLean: the roots of her new hit single!'

'Piper McLean, chart topper on the rise.'

'Piper McLean on diversity: being a part of two minorities.'

'The Power to use your voice: Piper McLean speaks up about speaking up.'

'Hit singer-songwriter Piper McLean talks about new tour dates: possible Madison Square Garden performance'

When I looked up, it was already eleven. I needed to pack.

My life was on a tight schedule. That's how I liked things: organized. Prepared. Planned. It was important to keep things the same. Orderly.

I shut the lid of my laptop and sat it on the couch, rubbing my eyes.

With all the paperwork and office business, I hadn't ate since twelve. It was too late now. I wasn't that hungry.

I walked through my open spaced living room and down the hallway to my bedroom. My office door was ajar, revealing the mess of organized chaos that was the reality of being an architect.

Blueprints, textbooks, maps, diagrams, schematics, prototypes, 3D drawings, folders and models all strewn across the desk and floor. Books and notes books shoved on an elegant black shelf. A drawer full of rulers, protractors and pencils. I shut the door, mentally making a note to clean it.

I made that note all the time. It never happened.

I walked past my office and into my bedroom, which was cleaner. Notice the er.

Notebooks lay on my bed next to a tablet that was dead and some photographs. A crowded bookshelf sat in one corner of the room. My nightstand was loaded with stray pieces of graph paper. Another desk sat in the corner. Pinned above it were more blueprints. It was messy and cluttered.

I did a quick cleaning job before throwing my clothes into a suitcase. I took a hot shower, steaming up my bathroom. Then I packed my toiletries and laid down on my grey bed, squeezing my eyes shut to ward off the headache I'd accumulated throughout the day.

It was another Monday in the life of Annabeth Chase.