"I can't believe you want me to become buddies with the nation's golden boy, turned bad boy and his best friend! You do realise I could walk in there and blurt out something that could jeopardise everything we've accomplished so far?"

"Hey, it's for the sake of the business remember? Just make sure you have your shit together and don't lose your cool."

Easier said than done.

Groaning, I hang up on her and decide to bake a few more cakes before the reality of my situation hits me in the face. I've used an excessive amount of electricity today along with cream cheese and butter! Shrieking, I take out all my baked goods and quickly turn off the stove before power cleaning the dishes (all that water...dear God please forgive me for the extra zero at the end of this utility bill) and decorate what I've baked.

Admiring my now finished creations, I place all the goodies in my extremely empty fridge and devour a cupcake while sipping on some warm milk. I'm not about to sacrifice all my baked treasures to a neighbour who may harbour resentment for my behaviour earlier today, and I deserve a damn cupcake instead of air-dried noodles. Not to mention the smell of vanilla and chocolate wafting through and attacking my senses; I'd rather happily die in this moment then let Zander Nolan discover I'm the secret matchmaker for his social circle.

My glorious moment is short lived as a knock on my door gives me another minor heart attack.

Not again, who could it be this time? 

Not even bothering to look through the peep hole this time, I open the door a fraction and frown when I see a tall figure leaning against the opposite wall with arms crossed. 

My eyes dart nervously and I look both ways before addressing the knocker, "Um, hi?"

"You know you're awfully rude neighbour."

"Sorry, but you're a stranger and you know what they say...stranger danger," I said breathlessly, stunned that the nation's golden boy would come knocking on my door a second time.

Raising a heavy brow, Zander looks down at me questioningly, "And just how old are you?"

"Old enough to drink and smoke."

"Interesting answer."

"Hmm, listen I don't mean to be rude but what exactly can I help you with?"

"I was wondering if you had any eggs?"

"Eggs?" I asked, surprised that a baking ingredient and protein alternative made me feel disoriented.

"Eggs."

"Brown or white?"

"Er, does it matter?"

"Significantly so," I stated, not even sure if it actually did.

"Right, so do you have any?"

"Nope. Sorry, it was nice meeting you," grabbing the door handle, I begin to shut it close but once again, he yanks it back.

"Whoa, not so fast. Shouldn't you invite me inside and apologise?"

"And why the hell would I want to do that?"

Startled by my bluntness, his brows furrow and I almost cackle at how ridiculous this must look but all of a sudden, his eyes darken and I shrink back from the severity of their lustre. 

The door gets pushed back entirely and the mug in my hand feels as if it's about to slip and fall into a million shards. Keep your shit together Cat, and don't let your future client get upset. He'll be lining your pockets and determining the contents of your bank account.

"Well for one, I happen to think you do have eggs considering the smell of cake coming from your apartment. And I also think you could have told me that the laundry room was out of service today."

Scrunching my eyebrows together, I give him a look of disbelief. What do I look like, the building owner? Also, how dare he try to get at my eggs designated for my own personal baking purposes.

Smirking, he takes a step forward and I take one back."For another reason, I could think of a million ways to wipe the corners of your mouth." 

Glancing at the mug in my hand I become acutely aware of the warm substance all over my mouth and ungracefully swipe at it. 

His eyes narrow and I look back horrified at the proximity between us, "Um, would you mind moving please? See, this is a door which means you can enter and also exit, especially if you're about to hurl gross comments like that," I replied in a clipped manner, smiling with forged sweetness.

Grinning, the good looking idiot has the nerve to chuckle before shaking his head, "But we're already inside your apartment and I meant a napkin, you can wipe your mouth clean with a napkin. Do you even realise you just wiped the corner of your mouth that's covered in chocolate with a white shirtsleeve?"

My eyes widen as I see the door shut soundly behind him, the room feeling darker. Hot breaths fan my face making the hairs on my neck stand up and the heat rushing to my face, my heart thudding in my chest. Oh god, the humiliation...oh god, my shirt! Oh god that stain!

What in the world is happening to me? 

"Damn, I knew it!" And just like that, he's no longer looming over me as he scans my apartment with a keen eye.

"I'm sorry?" I'm still dumbfounded by the entire ordeal while he acts as if nothing ever happened.

"Don't you have a thermostat?" He asked irritably, looking all around for it.

"Of course I do, everyone does."

"Then it has to be reading negative eighty degrees celsius. It's like a Tundra in here!"

Shrugging my shoulders, I place the mug on my desk and quickly minimise my report on my next client while sneakily shoving a few folders laying out, underneath a stack of printing paper.

Zander Nolan was the last person I wanted to be discovering my secret. 

"I knew there had to be a reason for you to be dressing like that." 

Scoffing, I roll my eyes and sit on the couch. Who did he think he was, mocking my fashion sense and my freezing cold apartment? The fashion police? "Look here neighbour, it's rude to just waltz in here and voice your opinions as you please. I'm sure your mother taught you manners so if you don't mind, I'd really appreciate it if you'd leave."

A sly grin forms on his face and I only blink, waiting for him to retort or do as I've asked. 

"No, not until you give me what I want."

"I told you, I don't have any eggs. Brown or white."

I don't even notice that he's moved from turning the thermostat up to standing right before me.

"Not that, I'll be frank. I need your help," He said seriously, all light humour gone while the lines that crinkles around his eyes when he smiled, become smoothly hardened.

Ah so there it was, there's always a hidden agenda or motive. I'm peering up at him suspiciously, his overly familiar demeanour making more sense as time lapses. This guy either has no sense of space or the concept is so lost on him that he treats everyone too casually.

Raising a questioning eyebrow, my face remains emotionless as I wait for him to continue. 

"You probably know who I am," pausing, he looks down at me and I nod in the affirmative, I notice his eyes narrow at my response but he doesn't comment on it and continues, "I've heard rumours about this place. And I need someone to help me."

"Help you do what, exactly?"

"Help me find the matchmaker who supposedly lives here."

"I'm sorry, wha-what?" My voice hitches at the last word and my heart sinks as I stare at him baffled. Does he know? He couldn't possibly know he's looking right at her...could he?

"You've seen the news and heard the rumours. I got kicked out for not showing up at my  fiancée's party. Instead, I went to a club with another one of my friends and now I'm a disgrace to society." 

He's rubbing the back of his head and sighs heavily before making himself comfortable on the couch opposite me. I'm not exactly a perceptive individual but I would bet my measly life fortune that this 'friend' happens to be a girl. From the look of him, with his face, those eyes, and uh do I dare say beautiful body? This friend must have been all over him. And considering his tone as he speaks, he probably enjoyed every minute of it as well. If he's a disgrace then they were either caught doing something socially or morally compromising, or his fiancée is out for revenge.

Why in shitsville am I picturing Zander Nolan, the President's son making out with some extremely hot and sexy female? I feel the bile rise in my throat and I'm about to make a run for the bathroom but I realise he's still talking to me. At least my conscience kept it PG, I could at least give myself credit for that.

"Anyway, I need to find this matchmaker to put me back into the good graces of society."

"And how would she or he do that?" I asked curiously, suspicion rising in my voice.

"It's no secret that this matchmaker is the reason for so many famous couples, I need her to declare publicly that my fiancée and I aren't meant to be."

"PUBLICLY?"

Wincing from my tone, he looks at me pleadingly as a hundred and one images of reporters hounding me and the secret service enforced to murder me, flash through my mind.

Is he mentally stable? Catherine Lewis make a public speech? I could barely make a speech at my kindergarten recital!

"Well if not publicly then at least to my parents."

God, I think I might faint from anxiety. The President and First Lady! Speak to them in person? 

"Why are you telling me all this?"

"Because you seem like a quiet and nice girl."

"And what if I were a reporter or worse, a paparazzi reporter? You shouldn't go around telling people your back story for moving here."

"And I'm not proud of it, but I need to find this matchmaker. Will you help me neighbour?"

I'm about to say no when I realise where I stand here. 

It's perfect of course, if I say yes, then not only will Zander never find the mysterious matchmaker because she is me but I would be close enough to do a little light investigating, discovering his likes and dislikes, and there was a probable chance of Patrick showing up as well. 

With renewed purpose, I look up into his hopeful face and adjust my glasses,"Alright, I'll do it."

"Great," giving a full fledged grin, he strides into the kitchen and grabs one of my cupcakes, finishing it in two bites. 

"Hey!"

"I didn't have lunch, thanks." Gawking at his nerve, I watch on as he reaches for another cupcake.

"Do you eat all of these alone?"

"So?" I asked defensively.

"So my next door neighbour likes living in freezing cold temperatures, lives off of cupcakes, and has a disregard for whatever happens to white apparel."

"Your point being?" 

"You are one strange woman cupcake."

I'm about to turn down the heat until my brain registers the last word he's spoken.

"Excuse me?"

"Cupcake, I think I'll call you that but only because you refused to give me your actual name and you obviously make killer cupcakes. Can I have another?"

"That is a name you give to a pink poodle," I state pointedly, giving him a glare. 

A chuckle releases as his shoulders shake in amusement. Pulling out a container, I place a few cupcakes in it before handing it over to him miffed, "Now that I've opted into helping you, will you please leave. I have to get back to work."

"What do you do?"

"I'm an editor," I almost applaud myself for that stroke of genius.

"That would explain the look you got going on, but like all cupcakes I'm sure you're delectable no matter the frosting," He said, winking abashedly.

Is he speaking in some foreign code? I have no idea what that illustration could possibly mean and I don't want to. I just hate the name cupcake. "I don't know what you're implying but I'm going to say ew and say just return the container when you're done."

Frowning at my lack of a response, he heads for the door, "You're no fun, would it kill you to be flirtatious?"

"Ah, yes. And it would also kill me if I wore six inch heels. I prefer to do neither, so if you have a problem with that, then either find someone else to do what you want or bear with my boringness," crossing my arms I want to jump up in joy and do a little victory dance. Who said Catherine Lewis couldn't talk back and show someone whose boss?

"The fierceness is cute." His voice is laced with amusement and it bothers me to know that my body reacts to his suggestive tone; my cheeks flush and the tips of my ears burn scarlet. Smiling at me, he walks out silently and I slide to the floor against the door.

Slapping my cheeks, I call Celia to update her on my good fortune that's bound to be my misfortune.

"Did you do it?" She asked.

"Nope, he came to me."

"Oh, so the girl does have some skill."

"I'm being serious, he wants me to help him find myself."

"What?"

"He moved in here to look for the matchmaker. He got kicked out for going out with a girl to some club, a girl who isn't his fiancée, I might add."

"Now this is some juice. For someone who doesn't read tabloids you have some skills in getting it straight from the source."

"Thank you, but that's not all. He thinks this matchmaker-me, can help him get back into being society's golden boy by declaring him and his fiancée as a bad match."

"And you're okay with this? You don't think he'll find out about you in the process?"

"Fat chance. He thinks I'm some saint whose barely female and odd...or like a pink poodle who needs a hideous nickname."

"Ouch. What a way to belittle yourself but all right, this plan is even better than the first."

"I do however, have a problem."

"What's that?"

"It's not what but rather a who."

"Who then?"

"Randy."

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