"Your not weak Cat!" Her arms tighten around me in reassurance but I can only smile faintly because the truth was pretty damning. My past has melded me into the fragile being that I am today but I can't face my fears and my nightmares because I'm too afraid of having my trauma walking around as a living tormentor.

"It's okay Celia, I'm not going to cry over it," there's a touch of melancholy in my voice as I say this and she quickly moves away to scan my face, her arms resting against my shoulders. 

"It's okay to cry, I don't know why you bottle your pain away, and don't you want to feel a sense of release?"

"I'm a grown up now remember? I have to deal with my suffering on my own, besides, crying never solves anything and I have to focus on making money. Bills don't pay themselves." 

What I really wanted to say was, 'Yes' but in my situation, crying and breaking down is a luxury – something I can't afford. I'm already an emotionally unstable wreck, I didn't need to go showcasing my emotions to the rest of the world, putting them on display for others to see because let's face it – people don't even give a damn. 

"It's moments like this where I wished my best friend wasn't such a realist." Frowning, I poke her in the stomach and she jumps back. "Call me whatever you want, but I hate talking about the past. I don't want to relive events I can avoid." I offer her a strained smile as she looks down at me skeptically and shakes her head before sighing and walking off back to the couch. 

"It's up to you Cat, but just know you can cry in front of me and I won't judge. I promise okay?" Nodding my head in understanding, warmth spreads in me and my heart feels put at ease. Celia is my one confidant, the only person I can cling on to for support, and she didn't have to tell me in words that she'd be there for me – I knew. 

"Thanks."

"And I'm sure Zander would let you cry on his shoulder too," a sly grin graces her face and the good mood in the air dissipates.

"Please, the man is so warped into himself to care about anyone else."

"I don't think so."

"I can still stab you with this pen you know?" Raising the ballpoint pen in my hand for her to see across the room, her grin vanishes and instead, she rolls her eyes at me.

"You don't have a violent bone in your body Cat."

"Oh?" Slowly getting out of my chair, I creep up to her and stick the pen near her face, right in front of her nose. Celia's eyes widen and I only laugh at her cross-eyed face. 

"Okay, maybe you do."

"Hmm that's right, I'm more of a threat than you think." 

"Yet, you nearly cried when I stepped on a worm."

"I was twelve at the time! God, don't even make me think about that awful day."

She smacks my arm, and I blink a few times to suppress the water about to ooze out of my eyes. God, I'm ashamed of my childish behaviour but I was a saint when it came to living creatures, I couldn't stand seeing people commit such subtle acts of cruelty...unless it was in a horror movie. I'd eat up a plate of goriness as long as it was on a television screen. 

"Your one odd cookie." Shrugging my shoulders, I know she's voiced my exact thoughts but really, I was classified as sane so I'm not odd in the medical sense. I just had different ways of coping with things and my imagination has a tendency to run wild, even at the age of twenty-one but I'm a matchmaker and the job calls for someone with my...uniqueness?

"Whatever just don't make it a habit of calling me Cookie."

"Why?"

"Because I'm already called Cupcake, I don't need to be named after another dessert or treat!" 

"That's a great idea!"

"I'm still holding a pen."

"Okay, okay, relax. I won't call you Cookie but don't get too upset if Cupcake slips out of my mouth."

Not her too! I had a given name like every human on this earth! Grunting, I march back to my desk and scribble furiously then type up my notes and send a few emails to clients. Checking the time, I shut off my laptop and barge into my bedroom, collapsing onto the bed.

A quick nap won't do any harm.

*********

"Cat!"

For the second time in a day, Celia has become a blaring alarm clock that screams my name in the most annoying possible way. Groaning, my eyes crack open and I rub the remaining sleep away before stiffly getting up and swinging my legs over the bed-frame, "What?"

"Zander's here."

"It's already four?"

"Almost five actually, he's been waiting in the living room for awhile now."

"Oh," stretching my sore arms, a huge yawn escapes my mouth.

"At least try to look presentable," glancing at Celia, I narrow my eyes offended but realise she has a point once I take a peek at my reflection in a mirror. Yikes did not even begin to describe the horror of my appearance; grabbing a brush, I quickly run it through my long hair and braid it to the side then slap on some moisturiser before placing my glasses back on.

Sighing, I simply shrug at my trashy look, to Celia's disapproval and walk into the living room where Zander waits in his entire god like glory. The two of us standing together made a bizarre pair, like comparing apples with oranges or worse, a shiny, waxy apple compared to an overripe and bruised banana. 

Grinning down at me, his gaze travels from the top of my head to the bottom of my feet, "you look nice." 

Scoffing, I cross my arms defensively because hell, I felt self-conscious and fold my lips inward to form a hard line, "Um, thanks. Sorry to keep you waiting."

"Nah, don't worry about it. It's partially my fault that you're sleeping in." I only nod curtly, Zander has no idea that the reason I had abnormal sleeping hours was to stay awake in order to talk to clients that may be overseas. Staying quiet, I move over to a shoe closet near the entrance and slip into a pair of faded sneakers before opening the door, entering the hallway. 

Coming up next to me, Zander shuts the door and we both stare blankly down the empty hall. "Now what?" I ask quizzically. "Do you know what floor you want to start looking on? And how does this even work? Are you just going to knock on every door?" I add, after noticing the frown on his face.

"I say we start from the fourth floor and make our way up, and yes, we'll be knocking on doors. No one refuses the opportunity to be interviewed and featured in a magazine."

"I'm sorry, what?"

"I'm a reporter and you're my assistant. Your job occupation gave me the idea when I considered how we'd go about this."

"That's lying." 

"Catherine look, this entire place is filled with hot shots, they all want their names in a magazine. Trust me, they won't suspect us of anything. While I ask them a few questions, I'll just take a good look around their apartments – a Matchmaker should have a list of clients or a drawing board at the very least."

Hilarious. He's walked into my apartment on more than one occasion but hasn't noticed any of those things. His plan has too many flaws and cracks; we're practically winging it.

"Aren't you forgetting something? You're the President's son, won't they recognise you?" I ask suddenly, how stupid were we? Zander has one of the most well known faces in the country and he wants to go make apartment visits! 

"All I need are a pair of contacts and more reporter worthy clothes. Pat's waiting on the fourth floor with everything we'll need, come on," grabbing my wrist, he drags me towards the elevators and we ride one down to meet Patrick whose casually waiting against a gym door.

"Hey Cupcake." He does a similar once over as Zander and grins when our eyes meet.

"Hi," I whisper shyly, confused and uncomfortable – is there an invisible sign on my forehead? Why the grins and stares? Casting my eyes downward to avoid his gaze, I notice the huge video camera and tripod on the floor.

"What are those for?"

"You're looking at the cameraman." Glancing back at Patrick's face in shock, he laughs at my dumbfounded expression, "See, we make a crew. Reporter, assistant, and cameraman," he declares with a glimmer of pride in his eyes. 

Should I be impressed or concerned? The depth of their little charade might just get a little out of hand, we'd be caught and sued by the elites in the apartment if they knew what we were scheming. Wanting to confess my concerns to Zander, I look left and right to find him nowhere, "he went to go change and put on his contacts." Is Patrick's response to my worried expression, but what really has me feeling nervous is being caught red handed in the thick of things. 

"Don't you think we should just hold like a meeting for tenants to sniff out this Matchmaker?"

"I don't think she'll reveal herself that easily," he replies discouragingly. Ain't that the truth! But no matter how I picture Zander's idea, all I foresee is travesty – this will no doubt end up being a recipe for disaster. 

Sighing, I lean against a wall facing Patrick and consider my options; I'm terrible at making convincing excuses and only manage to get away with it if luck's on my side, and something tells me Zander will drag me along no matter how much I protest and cry. 

What have I gotten myself into?

I should be back upstairs, on my floor, safely locked away in my apartment still asleep or working, not hunting for myself! Trying to comfort my unsettling nerves, I try telling myself that the money will be worth it if I match Zander with his soulmate, then all this running around will surely be worth it.... I think. 

"Ready to go?" Turning at the sound of Zander's voice, I practically cling to the wall for support – he looks too good for his own good. Well damn, if Celia were here she'd be fanning her face. Wearing a long sleeved button up shirt that's a pale blue, it contrasts nicely with his vibrant blue contacts and dark hair, it wasn't necessarily Zander, but the look was definitely more than just a little bit attractive. Just a little. 

Feeling my eyes on him, he smirks at my gawking face. Trying to mask it quickly, I busy my fingers by adjusting my glasses.

"How do I look Catherine?"

"Erm, a little different," saying the words without a second thought, I close my eyes regretfully. I have this sudden urge to slap my face right here and now, out of all the descriptive words in my head, the only thing that comes flying out is different? 

The comment doesn't sit too well with Zander but Patrick gets a good laugh out of it, "Finally! A girl who could care less! Please say that again so I can record it!" 

"Shut up Pat!"

"God, that was hilarious, Cupcake you have made my day."

"Your welcome then?" 

Scowling at his friend, Zander unexpectedly turns to me with an unknown glint in his eyes, "only different?"

"...Yes." Stepping back and gulping involuntarily, I try shrinking away from his towering figure. What is he even trying to gouge out of a shy girl?

"Good or bad?"

"The good kind I suppose," I squeak out meekly.

"You suppose?"

"Does it matter?" I rasp. I mean all that truly matters is that he wasn't recognisable at a glance and if people spent less than a few minutes with him, they wouldn't be able to engage with the idea that the reporter they're speaking to is the son of the nation. 

"Yes it does. It matters to me." My eyes widen into saucers, his imposing figure that's leaning only inches above me is making my body react in strange ways; whenever Zander's around I always seem to blush needlessly and a rush of searing heat hits me square in the face.

"You look nice then," I admit softly, my toes curling in my shoes to keep some feeling left in my body, anything to remind myself that I was still standing. My eyes dart from side to side to avoid his narrow gaze and my hands are clasped tightly behind my back. 

"Good." Like a gust of wind whipping past, he's no longer looming over me, swiftly straightening, a smug grin graces his face and he walks over towards where the tripod and camera lie, at a safe enough distance – a distance that allows me to exhale a shaky and nervous breath. 

What the hell just happened between us? 

My cheeks feel feverish with heat, I must look like a red hot chilli pepper in human form. Touching my right cheek, I almost recoil from the warmth that seeps into my hand. 

"Come on Catherine, we have to go find this Matchmaker." With a winning grin, Zander strides off and leads the way. My hand is still planted against my cheek as I stare at his retreating back and pray I make it through the rest of the day.