This goes beyond the normal sense of what's acceptable as 'ridiculous.' Still slightly dazed from Zander's effect on me, I've snapped out of it enough to watch on in horror as he knocks on a door, grinning from ear to ear.

The door in question, opens ajar and a petite blonde in bright 80's workout clothes stares back at us, sweat gleaming against her neck; I must hand it to her, to be able to exercise and remain active in the dead of winter really is something to applaud. Most of us just hibernate throughout the season – and by most, I mean, me.

Ignoring her annoyed expression, Zander gives her a beaming smile she can't refuse, "Hello there, we're from the Daily Chronicle and would like to know if you're interested in being interviewed for our upcoming magazine feature?" 

Closing my eyes momentarily, I take a quick peek at the Blonde and relief fills my insides as she seriously considers the offer – she's actually buying into it. "Sure why not, what's the article about?"

"We'd like to know how a selective few people live in this complex, how your apartment looks like, and what your everyday lifestyle is," I pipe in, knowing she'd need more than a magazine's name to get us past the door.

Considering this for a fraction of a second, she nods before clearing a path for us, "Sounds interesting, come on in then." And just like that, we file into her apartment without being questioned any further. This is either the "Zander effect" or this woman has no sense of suspicion, to be able to let people waltz into your apartment simply because they say they're from a random magazine? Shaking my head, I just pray the rest of this little plan doesn't come crashing down on us.

"I'm currently renovating the place, so watch the paint cans in the kitchen."

"Do you work at home?" Zander asks faintly, surveying the room with a quick scan.

"No, I'm a stay home mom. My kids should be back from their evening cram school in three hours."

"Nice one Sherlock, she doesn't even work!" Agreeing with Patrick as he harshly whispers into Zander's ear, I quickly scan her apartment to find yogurt containers and granola bar wrappers littering the coffee table.

"Are you planning to run a marathon?" I ask suddenly, my question startles her because she notices me for the first time with real interest.

"Yes, how'd you know?"

"The DVDs and workouts specifically are designed for long distance running, and by snacking on yogurt and granola bars you've managed to maintain a higher stamina level. It isn't the most efficient way, but it still does the trick." By now, I've placed my index finger against my chin,  tapping it I look around more closely, my gaze travelling.

"Are you an investigative reporter?" The woman asks bemusedly. My eyes widen in surprise – did I just open my mouth when I shouldn't have? Shifting my gaze from the coffee table, I turn around to see three pairs of eyes staring at me with curiosity.

"Erm, no. I'm...I'm just an assistant," laughing with a nervous shake, I mentally slap myself and begin shuffling away from a specific pair of contact blue eyes that haven't left my figure.

"That was impressive, Catherine," Zander finally admits, his eyes narrowing.

Hell.

"I was just...I – I, I was just..."

"C'mon don't be shy, look. Zander here is so impressed that he's in minor shock," Patrick places a reassuring hand on my shoulder, panicked worry reflected on his face as I've gone slightly pale from a pair of piercing eyes that were dead set on evaluating me. 

"No I'm not," Zander vents, giving his friend an irritable glare.

Gloating, Patrick shakes his head, "Yes you are."

"No I'm not."

"Yes, yes you are."

Groaning, I nervously look over to our 'interviewee' to see a look of disbelief on her face.

"Will you two please stop your lover's quarrel?" I hiss, offering the woman a placid smile.

"Lover's quarrel? Catherine, you did not just say that to two straight men?"

"And as a reporter, you should be doing some reporting," evading his question entirely, I elbow his stomach and start twiddling with my fingers nervously – She is going to find out any second if she already hasn't that we're total fakes.

Zander's jaw tenses slightly as he gives me a fleeting look and Patrick one of annoyance before turning to the woman we're meant to interview, "Excuse me Ma'am, I need to step outside and speak to my assistants for a quick moment." Giving her his signature smile, she only blinks before nodding slowly.

Grabbing me by the arm, and snatching a granola bar Patrick's about to eat, we get dragged and shoved out the door, "okay...this isn't working like I thought."

"You think?" I remark tersely. 

"Hey, it was a great idea at the time!"

"Selling Girl Scout cookies would have been a good idea, this, this is just crazy."

Placing the camera down, Patrick nods in the affirmative, "She's right man, at least I could eat something then."

"Pat, you just had four bowls of mac and cheese," Zander ripostes, shaking his head warily. 

"Yeah, so what's your point?"

"You should have ordered a large pizza, like I did."

My mouth hangs open as I stare back and forth between the two, not only were they having another useless conversation but also, my mind can't comprehend all that food. An entire large pizza? Maybe within the span of three or four days! I'm lost in my own thoughts as I consider how long it would take me to get through four bowls of mac and cheese when suddenly, I'm cornered and looking up into Zander's face.

"By the way Catherine, that was amazing what you did back there."

"What?" I squawk, my mind still reeling at so much cheese being consumed.

"That guessing bit with her running a marathon."

"He's only impressed because every girl he knows is dense," Patrick pitches in, making note of my blank expression.

"Every girl? That better not include my sister!" Zander retaliates. 

"You know I wasn't implying that."

Groaning, I merely frown, "Um guys?" 

"Yeah."

"What?"

"Maybe we should go to the next apartment?" I ask meekly, not liking the Zander effect that's coming over me again. He actually liked my stupid slip up back there?

"Right," they chime simultaneously, their expressions mirroring one another and hardening. Swivelling around, they proceed down the hall and start knocking on completely opposite doors. Groaning, I want to smack my forehead because as they turn to look at one another dumbfounded, both doors on either side open and behold – a pro wrestler and variety chef stare down at them; neither one of them female.

"Can I help you?" the wrestler asks intimidatingly, his imposing frame built like a steamroller.

Clearly afraid down to his bones, Zander clears his throat and attempts to keep an air of coolness, "We're interviewing female apartment tenants for an article."

"Yeah?"

"...Yeah." The socialite idiot doesn't know what to say, and to make matters worse, I almost jump in alarm as Patrick dips his finger into the bowl the chef has in his hands and licks the batter.

"Making cookies?"

"Hey!" The chef booms, incredulous and offended by the barbaric act.

"No, no wait. This tastes more like pancake batter."

Parting from his anger momentarily, the chef gives Patrick a miffed expression, "Crepes actually."

"Right...crepes."

"Wait a second, hey!" Sighing in exasperation, I watch on as Patrick dips his finger into the bowl again, bringing the chef back to his original state of anger. 

"Do I look like a female to you?" Whipping my head to the side, my eyes widen in sheer terror.

"Uh...no Sir – "

"Why did you just hesitate?" I can see Zander's Adam's apple move as he gulps from the imposing and frightening steroid-appearing muscular beast as he takes a step forward. 

"I wasn't, I was just wondering if you had a wife or girlfriend we could interview."

"I. Don't."

"In that case sorry to bother you," Zander concludes, slowly backing away from the giant.

"Do you add strawberries in the batter or on top or better yet, can I add candy in there?" Patrick asks, tapping a forefinger against his chin while eyeing the bowl of batter that is now in a protective grip. 

"Usually on top...wait a minute why am I still talking to you?"

To my immense horror, the other doors down the hall yank open to reveal angry tenants.

"WILL YOU KEEP IT DOWN?"

"Hey! My kid's tryna' take a nap!"

"Knock it off, you've got my dog barking now!"

Glowering at the other tenants, the wrestler hollers down the hall, "Hey! This guy is asking me a question, not you!"

"What? Just because you have ugly ripped muscles you think I'm going to be afraid of you?" A woman shouts, her very pregnant frame stomping towards the steroid injected man with wrath. 

"Stop eating all my crepe mix!" The chef wails, smacking away Patrick's prying hand that's latched itself to the batter bowl. 

"But it's just so good man."

"Hey! You let this kid eat whatever the hell it is you're making but when I asked for some eggs yesterday you said no!" Cries a man two doors down.

Within minutes, the hallway becomes filled with angry tenants turning in on one another, howling dogs, crying babies and Patrick devouring crepe batter in a corner while the chef tries to snatch it back.

Slowly backing away, I silently leave the two idiots and the chaotic scene and scurry towards the elevator, riding it back to my own floor. Entering my apartment, I collapse onto the couch and groan. We didn't even get through one person and I'm already exhausted, all we've managed to do is get inside her apartment and bicker before failing. 

"So how'd it go?" Entering from the kitchen, Celia takes a seat next to me and sips a mug of coffee.

"Horrible. We didn't even get through one person!"

"Then that's great! You don't have to worry about Zander finding out who you are."

"Yeah, but I'll have to worry about being dragged along to make apartment visits because my stupid mouth makes commitments before my brain can even process the ramifications!" Huffing, I start breathing heavily, and my wild hair tumbles out from my braid.

My dramatic display makes her eyebrows rise and she simply smiles, "at least you won't get bored."

"Boredom? That doesn't get remedied by a total lunatic, it gets remedied by movies and sappy novels!"

"Okay, okay. Take it easy girl, I was only teasing."

"Celia! I don't know what to do! I can't avoid them and I don't want to do this anymore even though it's barely begun."

"Well you can't tell him the truth now, can you?"

"I don't think so and I don't want to."

"Then that's, that. Just let him run around for a few more days and I'm sure he'll give up."

Whimpering, I cross my arms and bring my legs up to the couch to sit crossed legged, "fine, I'll just die of embarrassment. Did you find out anything about the client list we have to clear?"

"Not much, but get this. Most of them are in Zander's social circle."

"Of course," I declare bitterly, not even surprised.

"Trying to pry information out of him would be asking too much, right?"

"I can barely get solid, deep information about him, there's just too much floating on the surface, and it's difficult to get any deeper."

"Hmm, then we can only hope for a party that we could get invited to," Celia contemplates, wine obviously on her mind.

"Er, not we, just you. There's no way I'm going to a party."

Before she can make a smart remark about my lack of the party spirit, the door flings open and Zander strides in, "where'd you run off to?"

"It's more than obvious I ran back here," I mumble sarcastically, but of course he hears every word of it and narrows his eyes disapprovingly.

"You left me alone to deal with that monster?"

Shrugging, I only blink innocently, "you knocked on his door, not me."

"So what you're saying, is that you don't care what happens to this face?" Directing his index finger towards himself, a look of dramatic trauma crosses his features.

"What?"

"If I got beaten to a pulp by that guy you wouldn't care about this face getting hurt?"

"No, but the lawyer you hire and the police will."

Snickering, Celia tries not to laugh and I wave Zander off with a hand but then realise we were missing a person, "where's Patrick?"

"You're really worried about him more than me right now?"

What is wrong with him? Not even a five year old demands this much attention!

"I can worry for more than one person."

"No you can't," he snaps, clearly taking being abandoned and left to his own devices with a wrestler far too personally.

"What?"

"Don't worry about him over me!"

"I'm sorry, I didn't know I placed you on a pedestal within my heart," I drone out monotonously.

"Oooohh, my friend is good." High-fiving Celia, we both stick our tongues out at Zander who's unamused.

"Sass won't save you from what you've just done."

"What? I only asked where Patrick was."

"I'm right here guys!" Patrick's figure pops out of nowhere. Shutting the door, he walks past Zander and directly sits himself between Celia and me. Leaning back he sighs comfortably, "heard you missed me Cupcake. And by that, I mean I heard Zander being all melodramatic and obsessive down the hall."

"She didn't,"  Zander icily replied, for no apparent reason.

"Um, I was just a little worried," I confess, frowning at both of them.

"Don't be, that chef smacked my hand a few times with his whisk but I made it back with minor battle scars."

"I see where that hand of yours is going, and if it doesn't retreat then you'll wish a whisk was the only thing you got hit with today." My eyes widen at the deadpan look in Celia's eyes as she glares openly at Patrick. Shuffling towards the edge of the couch to give both of them a wide breadth, I freeze as blue contact eyes look down at me with contempt.

"What?"

"You're not going to apologise?"

"Apologise?" I ask, disbelievingly.

"So you still don't get it."

"Um..."

His eyes never leave me as he speaks out, "hey Pat."

"Yeah?"

"Me and Cupcake here are going out." Shocked for the millionth time in a day, my mouth opens in protest, "out? No, I don't go out."

"You do now."

"No, I don't."

"Yeah, you do. Grab a jacket and let's go."

"Wait, you mean out there, in the cold?" I ask incredulously, pointing in the direction of the window.

"Yup and I'm giving you exactly five minutes before I carry you out there." Zander glances at his watch to make a point. I remain still for a split second before running to a closet and yanking the door open to take out my winter parka. Throwing it on, I grab a pair of boots and reluctantly stand ready in front of Zander, who's self satisfied smirk makes heat rise to my face but irritates me nevertheless.

"Oh sure, you listen to him when he tells you to go out." Gapping at my friend's mildly bitter tone, I turn around, "that's because you can't carry me!"

"Locking yourself in the bathroom would have worked," Celia barks back, still scowling at Patrick's sheepish expression.

"Why didn't you tell me that sooner? And why do I even need to hide? I'm the one that lives here!" I cry out defensively.

"Now that you're ready, let's go." Pouting at Celia's unwavering expression, Zander grabs my wrist and drags me out the door.

"Hey no pouting."

"I'm not."

"Yeah you are," Pulling my cheek a frown sets on his face.

 Looking at him with annoyance, I smack his hand away before shifting my gaze back at the elevator doors, "Where are we going exactly?"

"How does donuts and coffee sound?"

"You threatened to carry me out of my apartment just for donuts and coffee?"

"No, I just want to give Pat time to talk to your extremely uptight friend."

God, he has no idea how un-uptight Celia really is, so I was really threatened because Zander here was playing the part of a wingman?

"He likes her more than you'll know."

"Does he?" My question is one of genuine curiosity, if he really likes her then Patrick's ideal type is someone like Celia – and as a Matchmaker, it's more fascinating because it makes my job easier. A small smile creeps up to my face but it quickly falls as the doors slide open, revealing Randy.

Raising a thick inquisitive eyebrow that I'm sure only paparazzi reports have, he side glances at Zander, "got yourself a boyfriend?"

Now doesn't that question just create a mood of awkwardness? How the hell do people go about jumping to such conclusions? Couldn't he just be my long lost brother? Then again, the resemblance isn't there.

Before I can say 'no' a hand lightly slings over my shoulder and I can feel heat emanating from the body next to mine, "yes, she has."

WHAT?

Turning to look down at me, Zander's blue contact eyes harden, and I stand there like a mute lamb not even capable of 'baaing.'

Grunting, Randy takes stalk of Zander suspiciously, "You live with her?"

"I don't think I have to tell you the obvious."

Oh god, someone please make him shut up. My prayer seems to be answered in the most surprising way as Zander plants a kiss against the cheek he just previously pulled merely seconds ago. Too stunned to react immediately, my entire body malfunctions slightly; my sexual desires and experiences so minimal and lacking that I'm incapable of responding.

Slightly vexed by the display of affection, Randy shrugs it off dismissively and changes the subject, "See someone who looks like the President's son around?" The man is determined to meet his objective goal. Shaking out of my daze with quite a bit of effort, I nervously look up at Zander, his lazy grin giving nothing away.

"Nope, if I saw the guy I'd know. Believe me," he says it with such ease that I'm almost certain Zander isn't even himself – denying his own identity so calmly like that shocks me.

"Well you two have a nice day," striding off once the elevator reaches Randy's floor, the reporter leaves us.

"So that's the guy my Dad's Secretary warned me about."

"Do you always deny you're the President's son like that?" I'm not sure if I've asked the wrong question or the right one because his eyes begin to bore into mine with an intensity that makes me wish my glasses were covered in fog or steam so I couldn't be placed under such scrutiny.

"I've done it more than once, to save my ass from being questioned and kissed upon."

"Thanks for explaining that so illustriously," I reply wearily. 

"Any time."

Rolling my eyes, we take the elevator down to the main lobby then head out into the bitter, freezing cold evening.

"The bus should be here in five to ten minutes." Walking off towards the bus stop that's a little further away from the complex, my eyebrows furrow in confusion.

Observation: Zander Nolan, the President's son, takes public transportation.

He takes public transit?