After an awkwardly polite handshake and hug, the First Lady gives Zander a meaningful hard stare, "if he does anything stupid don't hesitate to tattle on him Catherine."

"Um, you have my word?" I warble out questioningly. Did she honestly think that I would reach out to her and dish on her son's abnormal and bothersome behaviour? If I want Zander to remain as a client then I'd have to tread on a thin line between appeasing him and his parents. It's obvious from the snippets of their conversation that Zander's, 'predicament,' as the President frames, is more complicated than anyone lets on. Usually, C&C clients are selected and actions conspired upon the wishes of the parents but in Zander's case, it looks like we'd be dealing with him directly.

"Ma! Stop threatening her, jeez."

Raising a thinly waxed eyebrow at her son, she proceeds to hand me a business card. Well isn't this just my luck? I bet the old geezers in politics and even Randy lurking somewhere upstairs, are dying to know the First Lady's number, and here's little me with her cellphone number.

Suddenly, the thought of phoning her does cross my mind but for matchmaking reasons – I could just tell her that I was the real Matchmaker, offering a deal to solve Zander's relationship issues. But that could go two ways: the first outcome, could have her screaming and yelling at me for not being honest with her son who's so keen and desperate to find me; the second outcome, could have her pleased at the thought of quietly resolving things with his fiancée. 

Sighing lightly, I decide to go against it. Zander's family situation seems already complicated as is. I didn't need to drag him down into more disgrace by getting involved without him knowing.

Without having an inkling to my thoughts, Mrs. Nolan waves goodbye and leaves. The pool room suddenly becomes eerily silent, the chloric water illuminating pale blue. I could feel Zander's gaze boring holes through the top of my head. Our height difference is noticeable, believe me, it makes me feel all the more uncomfortable, like an insect standing next to a tower. Despite this, there's this nagging feeling centred within the pit of my stomach that he wouldn't do anything to harm me. Especially, not right after his mom just left.

Finding a sliver of courage, I look up to see him shift slightly before rubbing the back of his neck, "whatever happened today, just pretend like you didn't see anything."

"Why?" I blurt out, the words flying out of my mouth before I even have a chance to stop – this is probably another reason why I am so socially deranged. I probably offend people without meaning to because this mouth of mine, which remains mute on most occasions, yet has a habit of blurting out stupidity.

His eyebrows rise in surprise before his face hardens, green eyes turning cold, "your right, why should you? The tabloids would have a field day. You could easily make a nice fortune selling a story."

Blinking dumbly like a mule, I remain quiet. The urge to slap him across the face is so tempting, but a wave of compassion washes over me. He must deal with backstabbing acquaintances and friends all the time, being the son or daughter of a politician must be brutal. A simpleminded citizen like myself can't even comprehend everything that occurs in their lives, but that doesn't mean I don't have an inkling of empathy.

The world is just polluted by emotionless opportunists, wearing sheep's skin but shedding that skin once the opportunity arises; they show their wolfish intentions then.

I still haven't said anything as my mind wanders into more philosophical realms and Zander takes my silence as confirmation of 'selling his story.'

"I can see it now, you'd tell them that the President's son is a no good player who has the most dysfunctional family, a strict, unrelenting father and a mother who still treats her grown son as – "

"Will you shut up?" Now I'm furious, "I haven't said or done anything, so your accusations are hurtful. What even makes you think I'd sell your 'story' or whatever it is you want to call it? Frankly, you're giving yourself way too much credit. What I saw today, were concerned parents worried for their son and giving him an earful for moving out. So what? Does that make you any different than the other twenty-something year olds? I've seen families in deeper misfortunes than yours, so don't worry about it, to me, your story is actually unsellable and unprofitable." Huffing after that agonising release of anger, I turn sharply on my heel and stomp back to the apartment's lobby.

Making sure no one else sees me, I head back to my floor and enter my apartment where Celia, and a now awake Patrick, play a board game.

"Oh good you're back. I was starting to worry that I might have sent my best friend off to hell."

I consider telling her that I met the First Lady but change my mind – that would just be hypocritical on my part, considering what I just told Zander. Speaking of the devil, he walks in with a solemn face etched with regret. Ha! Now doesn't he look like a martyr? Zander Nolan has no idea what he's got! At least he has a family and a home – a luxury more grand and splendid than the apartments of the rich and famous and all the glitz and glamour.

"Do you two want to play? Your friend Patrick here needs all the help he can get," Celia beckons us with a waving hand, her eyes never leaving the game board. 

Patrick shakes his head bemused, clearly making stock of his losings, "You know what sucks about all this?" 

"What?"

"I'm minoring in finance."

"It is called Monopoly," Celia chants.

"But you're the one with the high rise building!"

A smile forms before I burst out in giggles. The two of them turn towards me and I just stand there shaking my shoulders in my own amusement.

"What?"

"No! Don't tell me this is a bestie inside joke I'm missing out on?" Celia's brows furrow as her eyes take note of every inch of my face. 

Waving them off with a hand, I walk into the kitchen and pull out a sprinkled pink cupcake from the fridge before pouring a tall glass of milk. It was nice to experience this level of normalcy after the chaos of earlier, which was a scale far larger than I thought I could ever manage. My light mood however, drops a fraction as Zander enters the kitchen, his begging puppy eyes lingering on my cupcake. Rolling my eyes, I grab the container out of the fridge and hand it to him.

The wounded expression becomes replaced by delight, grinning he takes it from me and points to the glass of milk. Raising an eyebrow in defiance, his grin turns into a hard line and he gets the message – pushing his luck will only result in no cupcakes at all. Clearing his throat, Zander scratches the back of his neck with a flicker of apology. I point to a cabinet behind his head and he opens it to discover a row of glasses and mugs. Taking out a mug, he fills it with milk before popping it into the microwave to heat up as I take a bite out of my vanilla cupcake.

Is it strange? This entire kitchen scene has gone on without a single word transpiring between us. Just facial expressions and pointing, even the tension brought upon by our little heated exchange of words a few minutes ago vanishes into the universe and all its juices. 

The microwave beeps, and Zander takes the stool next to me, placing his mug of warm milk and the container full of cupcakes down on the table, "I'm sorry." Taken by surprise, I turn to him midway a bite and set my cupcake down (regrettably).

"It's okay."

"No it's not. I lashed out for no apparent reason and, as you pointed out, I accused you of crimes you didn't commit."

Oh. Well this does leave me a little breathless and speechless, I didn't realise he pondered upon it so much. The look of utter disdain that he has towards himself shocks me even more – I wasn't that angry, or does he feel hyper sensitive due to my shyness and frail demeanour?

"Don't worry about it," I say, with an air of indifference.

Sighing heavily, he takes a swig of milk before frowning, real penitence reflected through his eyes. I know I said I wanted Zander to beg for forgiveness and be mindful of what he's done but I never expected to be this discomposed by it. "I'm serious, it's okay. You lost your cool for a bit and that's fine. I made my point and you received it loud and clear, so we're good," I add, trying to give him an inkling of reassurance.

I notice him close his eyes as his head hangs, and a light groan escapes his mouth before he looks up at me, green eyes twinkling, "Thanks." His voice is slightly husky and soft but I shrug it off, turning back to my neglected cupcake and settle back into a tension-free silence; we both sit there contentedly, my mind replaying his apology.  

"HEY YOU'RE CHEATING!"

"I AM NOT!"

Patrick and Celia's booming voices drift into the kitchen and I only shake my head before rolling my eyes, those two are two peas in a pod.

"Cat! I need you here!" Downing the last bit of milk, I set my glass and plate into the sink and motion for Zander to follow me to the balcony as he finished devouring two cupcakes eons before me and attempt to escape a fiery and clearly heated game. I rarely use my balcony as the view consists of another apartment complex, and the sound of traffic can be heard in the far distance. Not exactly the stress relieving view one hopes for.

A light coat of snow lies on the ground, but it's the only place I know Celia won't look. I was tired and lethargic, board game was the last thing I needed. Sliding the door open, I step out into the early bitter morning air, and Zander steps in next to me after sliding the door shut.

Resting my elbows on top of the balcony railing, I stare off into the building opposite, wondering who occupies the apartment. Maybe a past client or a future prospect? Who knows.

"I wonder who lives there," voicing my thoughts, Zander leans his back against the rail, his body facing me and eyes intently on me.

Avoiding his gaze, I continue to stare at the opposite apartment, "It could be anyone, I guess."

After a moment's pause he cuts the silence, "tell me, Cupcake, why don't you go to school?"

"None of your business," I state icily but amend my harsh tone by adding softly, "it's complicated. In the same way your whole family situation is, I'd rather not talk about it."

"O-Kay, I won't probe you for answers then."

I couldn't blame him for being curious, but only a handful of people knew the reason behind my disinterest in school. I was all for education, I even hold a squeaky-clean attendance record for all four years of high school and genuinely loved most subjects, including the more curricular, mandatory ones. But working just gives me an escape option from all my past demons.

"Does this mean you won't tell me what your job is?"

"I did tell you, I'm an editor remember? And I thought you weren't going to probe me for answers."

"About school yes, about other things, no. Also if memory serves me right, don't you need a degree to be an editor? How'd you make it? Don't tell me you climbed the ladder of nepotism to get to where you are?"

"How about I ask you something. Why do you still call me Cupcake when you know my real name, and how did you even find out about my name? I never told you."

"That's two questions, not one. You're already bad at the question game, Cupcake."

Glaring up at him, he chuckles before answering, "I saw your name on one of the letters the Landlady had in her hand when she delivered your mail, and I call you Cupcake because it suits you. But since you're so against it, I guess I can call you Catherine, but don't be too shocked if the name slips and I revert back to calling you Cupcake."

Opening my mouth to protest, he cuts me off, "but that's not to say Catherine isn't a beautiful name, it's perfect for you."

Stunned, I shut my gapping mouth closed, and my breath hitches as he leans in towards me, "even if Catherine is your real name, I still like the one I gave you," Winking at me, he grins before heading back inside.

Just when I think he's capable of complimenting me sincerely, he ruins the friendly mood by teasing me. "Don't tell me you go around giving everyone nicknames?" I mumble, re-entering the kitchen.

"Jealous?" 

Scoffing, I cross my arms defensively and his grin just widens, "No I don't go out of my way to come up with pet names." Emphasising the word, 'pet,' his smile stays plastered on, making me glower at him before stomping off to the living room.

Celia and Patrick have ended their game and begin packing away game money and various pieces.

"Where were you? I needed you, he totally cheated," Celia grumbles, giving Patrick a stormy look that can only be described as epitomising that of a sore loser.

Grinning, Patrick instantly puffs up at her indignant tone, "No I didn't! You're just upset because I kept getting the jail free card."

Rolling my eyes, I give them a scoff, "Seriously? It's almost three in the morning and you want to have an argument over Monopoly?"

"Yes seriously, I had my life on the line," Celia states matter-of-factly, giving me a sour look.

"What?"

Patrick grabs the box containing the board game and its components, giving Celia a pat on the shoulder before addressing me, "We made a bet, whoever wins has to do whatever the other person says for an entire day."

"Well that's just stupid. Don't bet if there's even a slight possibility for you to lose."

"Are you lecturing me Cat?" Celia whispers questioningly, her eyes narrowing into slits.

"Maybe."

"Worst best friend."

"My place, you're free to leave."

"Damn, you're feisty," Patrick raises his hands in surrender and begins to back away.

"She is," leaning against the doorframe, the smug look on Zander's face perplexes me. Why does he keep calling me that and why does he contradict himself by calling me shy the next minute?

"We'll leave now. Thanks for the Cupcakes, Cupcake," Patrick croons happily, making sure Celia catches his triumphant and victorious smile, "Can't wait to make you suffer, Celia, see you two later."

The door closes behind them soundly after their sudden departure and the apartment fills with a silence I've missed. Grunting, Celia flops down on the couch, "this is the worst! How could I have lost to him?"

"Think of it as an opportunity to profile him."

"Fine. How was your little date with Zander? Where did you guys go earlier?" All thoughts of Patrick gone, I weigh her words with some contemplation.

"Just down to the lobby for a second and then all we did was eat cupcakes," I say mildly, impressed at my own glib. I'm not sure why I've chosen to refrain from admitting the truth but when it all boils down, I didn't necessarily have facts that reveal anything of importance, merely speculation on my end. And until I've sorted out all the information, I should keep my mouth shut...plus I can't shake off the look Zander gave me when we had our little chat in the kitchen.

"Boring," her face falls, disinterest immediately replacing all curiosity. She was clearly hoping for something juicy but I couldn't bring myself to tell her what happened – for some reason, I felt like a traitor for spilling everything to my best friend. Even on a matchmaker's level,  today's revelations do me no good, except knowing what his parents' personalities are like but I could just file that away on paper instead of confessing with my lips.

"Well I guess since you have nothing worthwhile to tell me, I should go to bed."

"Oh my God! Ms. Zhao!" Remembering my Landlady was discarded on my bed at the mention of sleep, sends me running down the hall and yanking my bedroom door open. She was still fast asleep and snoring as loud as ever.

"How long before the drug wears off?" I ask, cautiously. A part of me can't help but feel anxious at her state, I mean it was nice to see her breathing or snoring in this case, but she was still a narcotic case that could really get me in prison if she didn't decide to wake up.

"I don't know, it could be hours, or minutes," Celia adds lightly, her diffident tone doing absolutely nothing to reassure me.

"Great," I say sarcastically, tip toeing inside and grabbing my sleeping bag as to not wake her, as if that were even a possibility considering her heavy breathing and snuffles. Heading for the thermostat, I lower the temperature and shut off all the lights, unplugging any devices and electronics. Entering the guest room, I grab extra blankets from the closet and set my sleeping bag on the mattress, covering myself with a thick layer of blankets.

"Hey, what about me?" Celia moans in a harsh whisper. Too exhausted to reply, I shove over and  Celia slides in next to me and within seconds, we're both asleep.