"Wait, wait, wait! The President's son is moving into this very apartment complex?" I nearly drop the mug of hot chocolate in my hand as I stare out the window absently, dollar signs swimming across the pane. 

"Yup, apparently he's fed up with everything and everyone."

"Figures," I sneered, the sarcasm in my tone barely contained. For once, it was refreshing to witness someone walk away from superficiality. "But this is the perfect business opportunity! If we set him up with the perfect girl then not only will we be rich, but I won't be living off of ramen anymore!"

"Uh Catherine, what part of this guy being a high-profile case not getting through to you?"

"Celia please, we've had worse and if it makes you feel better, at least this guy doesn't like older women," I said hurriedly, making a pensive face on the other end. It was tough dealing with a kid who liked older women, had he actually been legal we might not have all been scurrying to find a match his age.

"Right, and if we mess this up, the President will have us incarcerated or worse."

Rolling my eyes at her exaggeration, I set my mug down on my desk and begin investigating my soon-to-be client, "Look, for now worry about Patrick and we'll deal with Zander Nolan later."

"Fine, but if anything happens just remember that I told you so. I have a really bad gut feeling about this."

"Oh c'mon, what could possibly go wrong?"

************************

"Why won't you tell me?" I whined, losing ground at the landlady's arched brow and crossed legs as she holds an iPad in one hand and waves one of the housecleaners away after delegating a task for the theatre room.

 We were in her office on the second highest floor just underneath the penthouse suite that belonged to some foreign dignitary. The entire hall consisted of rooms that operated like a hidden heart, the internal day to day management and animated of the complex done from here. Ms. Zhao had the largest office surrounded by thick, sound-proofed glass, a large desk at the centre and a skyline view of the city just beyond her window.

"Because it is a private matter and strictly confidential. I'm not going to tell you," She said in a clipped tone.

"Ms. Zhao, you do realise we'll make a fortune out of this, don't you?"

"I know, but..."

"Yeah but..."

"Listen here, if the President's son is or is not moving in, I can't say."

"The fact that you're not talking means otherwise," I prodded, hoping the sing-song voice makes her ease up.

It would take an army if not the militia to discover whether or not Zander Nolan was moving in. The tabloids for the most part, were written and based on hunches and mere coincidence containing a few snippets of his bundled figure in an oversized coat against what allegedly a mini-van for movers. If the guy was moving in, I thought I could get it out of the only person in the entire building who knew of my occupation. 

"What about if I-"

"No, not unless you're about to cough up rent money here and now."

Crap.

Clearing my throat, I hastily run out of her office and take the elevator upstairs. The great thing about living amongst the rich and famous is their inability to wake up in the mornings, they slept in till eleven or twelve or were gone at the crack of dawn if they were actors or actresses rushing out to filming locations, meaning empty and noiseless halls.

Walking back into my freezing cold apartment, I layer my clothes and set a kettle to boil to make a cup of tea. Returning to my desk, I settle down and finish my report on Patrick Greene before sending it to Celia. I'm so immersed in my typing, the sound of the kettle hissing makes me jump and yelp audibly but the sound of a loud knock against my door makes my heart pound crazily. 

Scrambling to the kitchen, I turn the stove hob off and remove the kettle from its hot surface.

With all the skill of a ninja I can muster, I slowly walk to the door and look into the peephole. A  grey sweatshirt that is blurred and stretched out from the glass like turbulent displacement, and being the only thing I can really see, I decide to risk it and cautiously turn the knob and open the door.

Just a teeny bit of course.

"Hi," his voice is deep but warm and stunning vivid green eyes stare down at me, unmistakable to anyone.

"Um, hello," I said cautiously, scrunching my nose with mild curiosity.

"Sorry to disturb you, but could you tell me where the laundry room is?"

"You must be new, huh?" I don't even realise I've blurted this out, and I blush at my stupidity because of course he was new, Celia broke that to me not too long ago. I want to face-palm myself or set my mouth to rewind mode.

Indifferent and mysterious, you idiot! That's what you're supposed to be!

A smile forms on his lips and I notice how nice it looks. A girl could definitely get used to that.

"Yeah, I am," He said, shrugging his shoulders lightly.

He scratches the back of his neck and my eyes follow the movement still stunned. Shaking my head, I give myself a mental pep talk and look him straight in the eyes.

"Every other floor has its own laundry room, if you go down to the floor just below us, you'll find it at the very end of the hall," I said quickly and begin shutting the door but his hand darts out and holds it in place.

"Thanks, neighbour."

"Neighbour?" I squawked, my mouth ajar from this loaded fact.

"Yup. I'm your new next door neighbour. I'm Zander, and you are?" Stretching out a hand for me to shake, I gulp involuntarily and stare in a daze at his hand.

"Uh, you don't want to know."

And with a quick yank of the door, I manage to shut it close at wide green eyes and a gaping mouth.

The President's son was my neighbour! This is either pure luck or a curse.

Pulling out my phone, I dial Celia's number while pacing the room.

"Hello?"

"CELIA!" I screeched.

"Ouch, you're going to have to pay for an eardrum replacement. What's up?"

"He freakin' lives next door!"

"Wha-"

Not waiting for her to finish, I interject hysterically, "Zander Nolan is my next door neighbour!"

"Shut up!"

"I'm being serious! He just asked me where the laundry room was."

"Wow, I'm not sure what amazes me more. The fact that you just had contact and communicated with a male, or that you met the President's son and our future client. Okay, so what were you wearing when he saw you?"

Dread develops in me and I look down at my oversized sweater, my knitted scarf wrapped around me like a boa constrictor, and worst of all, my fuzzy electric pink socks. Not to mention my hair! It was tied in a messy bun that could only be described as the aftermath of a tornado. 

"Erm, do you really wanna know?"

"You looked like poo didn't you?" Celia reproached.

"Yes, but what do I care, huh? I'm going to be his future matchmaker."

"Oh please, every girl should look nice in front of a cute guy no matter what the future holds, especially if that guy is Zander. You're a disgrace to all matchmakers out there you know."

Rolling my eyes, my nerves settle and I plop down on a couch, "So how are things with Patrick Greene?"

I hear her groan on the other end and this perks my interest.

"He's so elusive, he doesn't seem into chicks at all!"

"So he's gay?" I asked mildly, ready to write the information down for his file if it were true. 

"Well according to his history he did date girls in high school but something happened first year in college and since then he's never dated again."

"Mmm, sounds like heartbreak to me." 

"I'll try seeing if he flirts with any girls at that charity event for oysters but until then, I've got nothing." 

"Maybe we can get something out of Zander Nolan? If they're close friends then he just might know something."

"That's brilliant! You become friends with him, get close and find out all his secrets! It's foolproof!"

"Uh...actually, that sounds terri-"

"Not only will we get the information we need but for once you'll be socialising with another human being other than Ms. Zhao and myself."

"Hey! You don't have to make me sound like such a loser!"

"Then again, who knows if he'll even want to be friends with you? By your lack of enthusiasm, your first impression must have been bad."

"Shut up." 

Walking to a mirror hanging against a wall, I stare at my awkward reflection and groan. Celia's right, a guy like that could never and would never be friends with a girl like me. My extremely average self feels dull in comparison to Zander Nolan. 

He must have loads of friends, not to mention all the gorgeous and beautiful girls he's met before. Oh, who am I kidding? He probably has people lining out the door just wanting to be his acquaintance or breathe the same air as him.

I already struggled with low self-esteem. Who was I fooling in thinking someone like that could even spare a glance at someone like me?

"Celia, I-"

"Ah uh! Nooo, you are not backing out of this. You will face your fear of socialising and you will do it with confidence."

"But-" Stuttering, I fail to make an excuse on the spot. 

Curse my lack of ingenuity.

"Cat, as your friend and business partner, I'm saying this is for your own good and it'll make us good money. We need this! How long do you plan on eating instant noodles? Besides, it was your idea in the first place to make him a match."

And curse Celia for her sensibility, knowing where to hit me where it hurts worse.

"Okay fine, but if he's a total jerk and thinks I'm some freak then we'll do this the normal way. You'll do the fieldwork and I'll do the paperwork."

"Deal."

Grunting, I sink into the couch and place my head between my knees. This is just cruelty, but for the sake of matchmaking I'll have to do this. 

For business.

***************************

Should I?

Would he answer the door? 

Wait, isn't he doing laundry? 

I'm such a coward, all I had to do was knock on his door and welcome him, but no, Catherine Lewis is a wuss! A Pathetically sorry excuse of a matchmaker.

 He didn't seem rude during our first encounter but people were usually like that, they become nice and friendly when it benefits them, when they want something from you...like knowing where laundry rooms are located.

Shaking my head, I know for a fact that I can't go through with this. I'm scared and an idiot for being so, but that's how it's been for years, I don't care. Me actually meeting a potential client in the flesh? I can't risk putting whatever amount of hope I have left for myself on the line.

Not even for Zander Nolan.

Deciding to channel all my pent up anxiety onto the only thing that remedies my nerves, I head to the kitchen and bring out the big guns: eggs, flour, sugar, etc.

Baking was my way of dealing with anxiety and worry, but I did it as if I were the devil's advocate, I was a madwoman with a mixer ready to reach the heart of the President's son with sugar.

Blasting the radio, I move the curtains aside to shed in some light and retie my hair, putting on a baby pink apron that said, "Yummier than Your Cakes," and get down to business.

Within two hours, I have a pie, two dozen cupcakes, and two cakes placed in the oven. Setting a timer on my phone, I let the aroma of baked goods assault my nostrils as I wait for high-calorie goodies to be done and prep a ganache and buttercream frosting. Internally however, I was weeping just thinking about the grocery and utility expenses for all my baked wonders but the sound of my phone going off overrides my economic woes and deepens my sense of dread. I pull it from my apron pocket and answer it.

"So did you meet him?" Celia prodded, the sound of her scribbling on paper echoing through the phone speaker. Unlike me, she was holding up her end of this business and getting work done while I couldn't even act the part of a neighbour trying to pay a social visit.

"Um..."

"You chickened out already?"

"No! I already saw him once today, I don't want to throw myself at him. It'll give him the wrong impression, especially considering my intention is to set him and his friend up without drawing unnecessary attention to myself."

"That better be the reason because it looks like Zander Nolan is the nation's new political child bad boy."

"I'm sorry, come again?" Turning the volume of the radio lower, I pull out a stool and brace myself for another juicy conversation about my new neighbour that needs to be added to his file.

"He's been allegedly disowned by his parents, well it isn't official yet, but he's been taken off the guest list of almost every distinguished party and event. Including the one that's supposed to be tonight, which means Patrick Greene won't be attending either."

"But what are we supposed to do then? I already emailed his aunt that we're looking for his match!"

"Don't you get it, Catherine?"

"Get what?"

"Zander is free tonight and I'll bet everything I have, that Patrick will be over at his place."

"And?" I asked confused, trying to swallow the ball of uncertainty that was beginning to form in the pit of my stomach. 

"And my dear and wonderful business partner, you're going to go over and befriend them."

"I was afraid you were going to say that."

*****************