The Boy Next Door

by Meg Cabot

  Additionally, you will find that the cost of the rubber tree plant destroyed outside the fifth-floor elevator bank will be deducted from your next paycheck. This is due to the fact that the individual to whom this destructive act was ascribed was apparently an acquaintance of yours. Please note that in section E, page twelve, of the New York Journal employee handbook, it is stated that employees are at all times responsible for their guests, and that any damage incurred by said guest is the responsibility of the employee by whom he/she was signed in.

  You should consider yourself fortunate that you are not being charged for the cost of reconstructing the cubicle into which your guest threw Mr. Spender. We have chosen to send the bill for that to Mr. Trent himself.

  Might I suggest that it would behoove you to conduct your romantic affairs well outside the administrative offices of this newspaper?

  A copy of this letter has been inserted into your permanent personnel file.

  Have a nice day.

  Amy Jenkins

  Human Resources Representative

  New York Journal

  To: Mel Fuller

  From: Dolly Vargas

  Subject: John Trent

  Darling, how was I to know? I mean, there he was, standing there in the lobby with that dejected look on his face, and all those roses. Why, it was enough to break the heart of…

  Well, even me.

  And I know what you’re going to say: “Dolly, you have a heart?”

  Surprising, but true. Sometimes I surprise even myself. Why, just the other day, I turned Peter loose, and told him quite firmly to go back to his wife. And the fact that I heard a little rumor that his employment contract wasn’t going to be renewed didn’t have a thing to do with it.

  Anyway, it wasn’t as if Security hadn’t gotten your memo. About John, I mean. They said it came just moments after my signing him in.

  Really, sweetie, what harm did I do? So he pestered you a little. I for one quite enjoyed the performance. You have to admit, he was impassioned, for a blue blood. I think Aaron’s going to lose several of his teeth. Well, the silly nudge shouldn’t have tried to stop him from getting to your cubicle like that.

  Still, it is always so delicious to have two men fighting over one, isn’t it?

  But do you really think it was wise to throw that Tiffany’s box he tried to give you back at him? There’s no telling what might have been in there. With his kind of money, it was probably three carats, at least.

  I do hope you aren’t going to be as unforgiving toward me as you’re being toward that unfortunate young man.

  XXXOOO

  Dolly

  To: Dolly Vargas

  From: Mel Fuller

  Subject: John Trent

  Dolly—

  What did you mean when you wrote “blue bloods”? And what money? John doesn’t have any money. All of his credit cards are maxed out. You must be mistaking him for somebody else.

  Mel

  To: Mel Fuller

  From: Dolly Vargas

  Subject: Au contraire

  You are too precious. Are you trying to tell me you don’t know that your John is one of the Park Avenue Trents?

  I thought that was why you were so angry with him—I mean, aside from the whole pretending-to-be-Max-Friedlander thing. After all, he introduced you to his grandmother at that Lincoln Center benefit you reported on last month.

  Although now that I think of it, I suppose he didn’t tell you she was his grandmother, did he? On account of his pretending to be Max.

  Oh, dear. No wonder you’re so angry. He did make a bit of a fool of you, didn’t he? His credit cards were maxed out, he said? Well, I’m sure he only told you that so he wouldn’t have to pull one out. His cover would have been blown for sure if that had happened, don’t you think? Supposing you see the John Trent on his Platinum AmEx, instead of the Max Friedlander you were expecting?

  I have to admit, it’s a typical Trent trick. You know half their clan is in jail—John’s own father among them. And the rest of them are in rehab. Goodness, what chance did a small-town girl like you have among them? John’s the worst, from what I hear—he got a job as a crime reporter so he could go “slumming” whenever he felt like it, and not arouse suspicion that he’s one of “them.” The Park Avenue Trents, I mean. Why, I hear from Victoria Arbuthnot, who used to go out with him, you know, that he’s even pretending to be working on a novel.

  Poor little Mel. You should have kept the Tiffany’s box. Whatever was in it, you deserve it, for all embarrassment he’s put you through.

  Oh, well. I hear there’s a sale at Barney’s. Want to go? I’ll buy you a scarf. It might cheer you up….

  XXXOOO

  Dolly

  To: Nadine Wilcock

  From: Mel Fuller

  Subject: That’s it.

  This is war.

  He thinks just because he’s a Trent of the Park Avenue Trents, he can trick people and use them for his own amusement and get away with it?

  Not this time. Nobody goes slumming with a Fuller of the Lansing, Illinois, Fullers.

  Nobody.

  John Trent is about to get what’s coming to him, but good.

  Mel

  To: Mel Fuller

  From: Nadine Wilcock

  Subject: I almost hesitate to ask,

  but what are you talking about?

  This doesn’t have anything to do with Dolly, does it? I mean, Mel, consider the source before you do anything rash.

  Nad

  To: Nadine Wilcock

  From: Mel Fuller

  Subject: It’s easy for you to talk

  You weren’t the one worrying about how much money he was spending, and how he was ever going to get out of debt.

  You weren’t the one who introduced yourself to his grandmother and didn’t even know that’s who she was.

  You weren’t the one who bragged about him to your mother.

  You weren’t the one who thought that finally, at last, you’d met that rarest of all things, a man who wasn’t afraid of commitment, a man who seemed utterly and sincerely devoted to you, a man who was completely different from all the other men you’d ever dated before, a man who didn’t lie, didn’t cheat, who seemed genuinely to love you.

  You weren’t the one whose heart got completely stomped on.

  But, never fear. I am a reporter, Nadine. I always check my sources before I run with any story.

  Mel

  To: John Trent

  From: Aaron Spender

  Subject: Pending lawsuit

  Dear Mr. Trent:

  This letter serves to inform you of my intention to pursue litigation against you for the pain and suffering, as well as the medical costs, incurred when you struck me in the face in my place of employment.

  It might interest to you know that as a result of your vicious and unprovoked attack, I have already endured extensive dental surgery, which will require additional follow-up, I am informed, in the form of two dental implants through the course of multiple visits over a twelve-month period at a cost in excess of $10,000.

  Moreover, to insure that such an incident is not repeated, my counsel advises that I also pursue a restraining order against you, which I can assure you I am pursuing.

  I am encouraging Miss Fuller to do the same, as it was in her defense that I first laid hands upon you. It was quite clear that Miss Fuller did not welcome your advances, and I personally consider you a coward and a cad to have confronted her in such a manner in her place of work.

  Furthermore, I happen to hold a brown belt in
tae kwon do, and it was only due to my concern of injuring innocent bystanders that I did not give you the thrashing you so roundly deserved.

  Aaron Spender

  Senior Correspondent

  New York Journal

  To: Aaron Spender

  From: John Trent

  Subject: Pending lawsuit

  Bite me.

  John Trent

  To: Michael Everett

  From: George Sanchez

  Subject: Trent

  Mike—

  You better start keeping your boy Trent on a leash. He was over here the other day raising all sorts of hell. Took out a few of Spender’s molars. Not that I mind—now at least I don’t have to listen to the bastard whine about how come I won’t give him a paid leave of absence to go to Africa and do a story about endangered chinchillas, or whatever the hell cause it is he’s spouting off about this week.

  Still, I can’t be having the teeth knocked out of my senior correspondents. Strongly encourage him to give this thing he’s got for my gossip columnist a rest. She’s a good kid, and doesn’t need the aggravation.

  Best,

  George

  P.S.: Love to Joan and the boys.

  To: Mel Fuller

  From: Tim Grabowski

  Subject: John Trent

  Honey, I know you’re just as mad as a bee caught under a pickle jar at the moment, but really, don’t you think you ought to take a deep breath and THINK a minute?

  This guy, who, I’ll admit, behaved in a fairly Animal House manner, nevertheless was the light of your life for quite a little while. Do you really want to throw away all you two had together just because the guy pulled one inane fratboy prank?

  He didn’t mean to hurt you. He was trying to do his friend a favor. I mean, come on, Mel. I could understand you’re wanting to make him squirm for a bit, but this is getting ridiculous.

  Besides, do you have any idea how RICH John Trent is? Dolly was telling me all about it at lunch yesterday. The guy is LOADED. I mean, millions, all his own, left to him by his granddaddy. And sweetie, the Trents have houses all over the place, the Cape and Palm Springs and Boca and Nova Scotia—you name it. Just think what fun you’d have, installing satellite television in all of them.

  You know, forgiveness is divine.

  Just a hint.

  Tim

  To: Tim Grabowski

  From: Mel Fuller

  Subject: John Trent

  And I could invite all my close personal friends up to spend the weekend in those vacation homes, right?

  Forget it, Tim. You are so transparent.

  Besides, if you’d listened closely to Dolly, you’d have been able to read between the lines: Trents don’t marry Fullers. They just use them for their own entertainment.

  Mel

  To: Nadine Wilcock

  From: Tim Grabowski

  Subject: Mel

  Something has got to be done about Mel. She is blowing this thing with poor Mr. Trent way out of proportion. I’ve never seen her like this. I have to say, I’m glad I never got on her bad side. She certainly knows how to hold a grudge.

  I guess we should have known, her being a redhead and all.

  I’m thinking she needs to be referred to counseling. You agree?

  Tim

  To: Tim Grabowski

  From: Nadine Wilcock

  Subject: Mel

  Tim, she’s angry, not insane. Anger management classes, maybe, but counseling? The guy LIED to her. Outright lied. It doesn’t matter why he did it, the fact that he did it is enough. Don’t you know how shaky Mel’s trust in men has been ever since Aaron revealed his true colors? Heck, even before that, she was convinced they were all out for one thing, and one thing alone.

  And now this guy, the first guy she’s really liked in a long time, turns out to be exactly like all those other guys she’s gone out with since moving here: a lying pig.

  I don’t know. Wouldn’t YOU be mad, if it were you?

  Nad

  To: Mel Fuller

  From: Aaron Spender

  Subject: You

  I want you to know that I understand exactly how you’re feeling right now. That Trent fellow is the lowest of the low, a perfect example of the privileged rich taking advantage of the working poor. He doesn’t care about what happens to any of us, so long as he can get what he wants. Men like Trent have no conscience—they are what is known as “alpha males,” grasping individuals who have absolutely no interest in anything beyond their own immediate gratification.

  Well, I want to assure you, Melissa, that in spite of what you may be feeling at the moment, not all of us possessors of the Y chromosome are selfish bastards, thinking only of ourselves. Some of us have deeply rooted feelings of respect and admiration for the women in our lives.

  I, for instance, will always have feelings for you, feelings that are as genuine as they are unwavering. I want you to know, Melissa, that I will always, always be here for you—even though foul troglodytes like Trent might try to break my spirit, not to mention my jaw.

  If there is anything—anything at all—that I can do for you now, in your hour of greatest need, please do not hesitate to ask.

  Faithfully yours, for now and always,

  Aaron

  To: Aaron Spender

  From: Mel Fuller

  Subject: You

  Bite me.

  Mel

  To: John Trent

  From: Genevieve Randolph Trent

  Subject: Your new nephew

  Dearest John,

  It might interest you to know that your sister-in-law gave birth to a nine-pound baby boy two days ago.

  His parents have—misguidedly, in my opinion—chosen to christen the child John.

  You would already know this, of course, if you ever bothered calling anyone in your family, but that, I suppose, would be asking entirely too much of an enterprising young man like yourself.

  Mother and son are doing fine. The same cannot be said for your brother, who has been home alone with the twins while Stacy is in the hospital. You might wish to give him a call and offer some fraternal support.

  Sincerely,

  Mim

  To: Jason Trent

  From: John Trent

  Subject: My namesake

  You shouldn’t have. I really mean that. I’m a rotten brother, and I’ll be an even more rotten uncle to the kid. I can’t believe I missed the whole thing.

  Anyway, congratulations. Nine pounds, huh? No wonder Stacy was so cranky at the end there. There’s a little package from Harry Winston coming her way. It’s the least I could do for all the advice she’s given me over the past few months.

  Not, of course, that it did much good. I still managed to botch everything, but good. You were right about no woman being forgiving enough to let something like this go. She won’t even speak to me. I went by her office, and it was a disaster. Her idiot ex-boyfriend tried to play the hero, and I decked him one. Now he’s suing me. I tried to give her the ring, and she threw it back in my face without even opening the box.

  That’s not even the worst of it. She had Mrs. Friedlander’s locks changed. I couldn’t even get back into the building to get my things without being escorted by the super—who is sympathetic, but who pointed out that, as I am not actually related to the apartment’s owner, he cannot issue me my own key.

  So I’m back at my
place, and now I can’t even see her. I don’t know what she’s doing or with whom. I suppose I could go stand in front of the building and catch her when she comes out to walk the dog or go to work or whatever, but what would I say? What can I say?

  Well, sorry about that. I didn’t mean to bring you down during this happy time. Congratulations, and give John Jr. a big kiss from me. I’ll be up to see him this weekend. It’s not like I’m going to have any other plans.

  John

  To: John Trent

  From: Jason Trent

  Subject: Ring?

  What ring?

  Earrings, I said. Buy her earrings. Not a ring. What ring are you talking about?

  Jason

  To: Jason Trent

  From: John Trent

  Subject: The Ring

  I know you said earrings. But I bought her a ring. An engagement ring.

  And no, this isn’t like the time in Vegas. I have not been perpetually drunk for the past three months. I genuinely believe that this woman, out of all the women I have ever known, is the one with whom I want to spend the rest of my life.

  I was going to tell her the truth, and then propose, in Vermont.

  Only that bastard Friedlander had to screw the whole thing up.

  Now she won’t answer my phone calls, open her door, or reply to my e-mails. My life is over.

  John

  To: John Trent

  From: Jason Trent

  Subject: My God

  I leave you alone for a week, and you manage to make a shambles of your life. How is that possible?

  All right, meet me at my office for lunch tomorrow. Between the two of us, we should be able to come up with some idea as to how to fix this.