The Matchmaker

Chapter 2

"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.