The Mandy Project

by Toni Blake

  In front of thirty thousand people!

  Yep, wine and roses all right. Yep, she really knew Benton like the back of her hand.

  But don’t panic. There were thirty thousand people here, after all—maybe a real Mandy actually existed.

  She hadn’t gathered the courage to look over at him yet—and was still formulating her next move when the older woman on her other side tapped her arm and motioned to the Jumbotron. “Isn’t that you, dear?”

  Flicking a dumbfounded glance back to the huge screen mounted high in the stadium, Mindy saw herself captured in close-up, big foam finger and all. The words MARRY ME, MANDY appeared there, too, flashing—flashing, for God’s sake!—in bright red and yellow neon.

  She felt like a cornered rat. No, she was a cornered rat. One look at her face should tell anyone that, but a tentative peek at Benton revealed that the lovestruck man was blind to it. Hope had reshaped his expression. He looked so sweet, so filled with anticipation, and more truly handsome to Mindy than ever before.

  Dragging her gaze back to the Jumbotron, she accidentally knocked herself in the head with her big foam finger, subsequently leaning into her hotdog, smearing ketchup on her cheek. She gaped at herself in the mirror-like screen, her stunned, condiment-laden face blown up hundreds of times larger than normal for all to see. Then the shot widened to include Benton, too. Speechless, she turned back to him—and he offered a loving grin as he lifted one thumb to wipe the gooey red smudge away.

  Thirty thousand people waited for her to give him an answer. In fact, a low, rolling cheer had risen from the crowd, and she slowly began to realize it was all for her, for them—it seemed almost as if the game was being held for a moment just so Mindy, or Mandy, could give her answer to the man at her side while they all watched.

  And that answer was simple.

  She couldn’t humiliate Benton in front of a stadium full of people.

  She couldn’t break his heart in front of them, either.

  So she dropped her hotdog and threw her arms around him, big foam finger and all.

  The crowd went wild.

  A few minutes later, after a barrage of congratulations and hearty pats on the backs from strangers, Benton leaned toward her and spoke in his sexy I-want-to-be-alone-with-you voice. “Let’s get out of here.” Mindy couldn’t help recalling that those words had started all this, that night on the dance floor. He’d uttered the same suggestion then, inviting her into his bed.

  But no, he hadn’t started this. She had. She was a slimeball. And now she’d taken things too far.

  She had to fix them, once and for all.

  Despite all her efforts, this wasn’t going to end the way she’d wanted it to. He wasn’t going to decide he didn’t want her. She was going to have to break his heart and make him hate her.

  The situation was made all the more tragic by what had hit her in the surreal moment she’d flung her arms around him, accepting his proposal without ever actually saying she accepted it: If she really were Mandy—r if Benton knew she was Mindy—she’d have been thrilled to have him propose to her, thrilled to promise her hand, her life, in marriage.

  But that didn’t matter. Nothing mattered now except what had suddenly become inevitable. She had to do the one thing she’d been determined not to since this had started, the one thing Jane had urged her to do all along—she had to tell him the truth.

  “Where’d you park?” He asked as they exited the stadium, hand in hand.

  They’d originally planned for him to pick her up at home, but she’d called him this morning to say she’d have to drive separately and meet him at the game. A client had contacted her, desperate for last minute pre-date counseling and, in spite of appearances, Mindy was still Mindy—and she still put her clients’ needs first. Well, her clients other than Benton. And to him, Mandy had simply claimed a “work emergency” at “the office”. Her sweet, unsuspecting lover had been totally understanding, conscientious businessman that he was. And Mindy had thought it a fortuitous twist of fate, giving him even less time alone with her to pop the question.

  “I got lucky and found street parking,” she replied, pointing in the direction of her car and picking up her pace. She didn’t look at him as they walked, couldn’t look at him. She felt as if the last moments of her life were ticking away. She wasn’t going to die when she told him the truth, but she knew something inside her would cease to exist when her real identity came out. It had to do with self-respect and dignity, but also with hope…and love. She supposed that right up until this moment, in some secret little compartment deep within her heart, she had believed this might somehow magically work itself out. But now she knew it wasn’t so. All was lost, for both of them.

  “I’m really sorry we drove separately now,” he said cheerfully from behind her.

  She continued to walk briskly, dragging him along with one hand while lugging her big foam finger in the other, anxious to reach her car and then get this horrible event over with.

  “I hate to leave you,” he went on. “So why don’t we take your car, go someplace and celebrate, then come back for mine later. How about it?”

  Oh God. Even without facing him, she could actually feel his warm smile coming through in his voice—and he caressed her hand with his thumb in that loving way that always melted her. And for an instant, she considered still not telling him, continuing the charade. Just for a little while longer.

  But no, that was insane. This had to end, now. There was no other choice.

  When she led him around a corner and to her car, parked on a narrow downtown Cincinnati side street, she turned to lean back against it, then steeled herself. Do this. You have to. Do it quick. Do it NOW. So she didn’t hesitate, and she spoke directly, almost sternly. “Benton, I have something to tell you.”

  He stepped close to her, extracting the foam finger from her grip. Without realizing it, she’d been digging her nails into it, clutching it like a lifeline. He set it on the car’s hood, then took both her hands in his. “What is it, darling?’

  Darling? He was calling her darling now?

  But then, of course he was. He thought they were engaged—he thought they were getting married. Her heart shriveled in her chest.

  Her next words were so painful she couldn’t even look him in the eye. She lowered her gaze, to his chest, then to his…crotch—oh, that was a bad idea—and finally to his knees. Yes, knees were okay; knees were safe. “Benton, I’m…I’m afraid I can’t marry you.”

  “Why’s that?” he asked. “Because you’re really Mindy?”

  Chapter Nine

  Mindy jerked her gaze from his knees to his eyes as shock crashed into her like a tidal wave. If she hadn’t been leaning against her car’s fender, the words would’ve knocked her down.

  “Wh-wh-what did you just say?”

  To her astonishment, Benton wore a smug, satisfied little smile, pretty much the last thing she’d expected upon turning down his marriage proposal. “I asked if you’d changed your mind because you’re really Mindy? After all, going so far as to get married would make things a little messy for you, wouldn’t it? Signing a false name to the marriage license would be illegal, and of course it would be difficult to explain why your sister wasn’t at the wedding. But then again, you’d just tell me you were feeling ill, and that it must mean Mindy was home sick in bed and you were just taking on her pain the way twins do. Isn’t that right?”

  The most shocking part of Benton’s diatribe was the look of amusement that graced his face from start to finish. She could barely process what was happening; she felt lightheaded, faint, sick—and she wasn’t pretending this time. “But, but, but…how?”

  He tilted his head, the pleased-with-himself expression still firmly in place. “Your explanation about the bruises was weak, and besides, I saw that cute little birthmark on the inside of your knee, on both of you. And as far as your mysterious illness, you started out strong, but lacked follow-through. The most telling element o
f all, though,” he said, holding one finger up, “was the hair.”

  “The hair?” She reached up to touch it, almost protectively, suffering the fear that he might reach up and rip off her Mandy wig. For some reason, even now, she couldn’t bear the idea of being de-blonded that way.

  “The little strands of red that peek out over your ear. I saw it after you danced out of your dress in my bedroom,” he said—and Mindy cringed, the memory seeming a lot more unthinkable having come from her and not Mandy. “And I caught a glimpse the other night when you were pretending to be sick, too.”

  “I…I see.” Her voice left her so feebly she barely heard it. Somewhere along the way, Benton had dropped her hands—or maybe she’d pulled them away, who could be sure?—and she began wringing them compulsively. They felt so empty—no big foam finger, no Benton’s strong, loving grasp.

  “I only have one question, Mindy,” he said, his smile finally fading.

  “Oh?” She could hardly complain about one little question, all things considered—but knowing what he would probably ask made her less than enthusiastic about answering.

  “Why did you do it? Why did you pretend to be someone you weren’t?”

  Yep, that was the question she’d feared. But Jane’s voice echoed in her head. Tell the truth. At this point, Mindy saw no other path but honesty anyway—she couldn’t have concocted another lie if her life had depended on it. And she had to spew it all out in one shot or she’d never get through it. Like before, she looked away, unable to meet his eyes, even as she reached up and numbly peeled the blond wig from her head. A moment earlier, that had been unthinkable, but suddenly, keeping it on seemed just as impossible.

  “It started when you came into my shop with your list of requirements for a wife. I thought they were rigid and outdated, and I didn’t even want to take you on as a client, but when you paid me the jacked-up fee I asked, I had no choice. And after your first two dates failed so miserably, I didn’t want to sacrifice another good client to you. So I decided to go myself, thinking that by the end of the evening you’d find me totally unsuitable, too—and maybe also begin to see that a list of attributes doesn’t necessarily add up to a real person. I’d have fulfilled my three-date obligation to you and we’d never see each other again. But instead, no matter what I did, you still liked me. I kept trying to make you change your mind, but nothing I did worked.”

  Benton stood before her, dumbstruck. A minute ago, when he’d been telling her he knew the truth, he’d felt almost gleeful to finally have it out in the open. He hadn’t kept quiet long enough to let her admit it—the urge to burst her delicate bubble had come over him with overwhelming force—but he’d still felt victorious. All that had been left was to hear her explanation, then tell her that no matter who she was, he was in love with her. That had been the plan.

  Now, he actually thought he’d have felt less humiliated if she’d turned him down on the Jumbotron, if she’d gone shrieking from the stands in front of all those people.

  He couldn’t believe he’d misunderstood the situation so drastically. She hadn’t wanted him, the way he’d thought—she’d simply been “fulfilling an obligation.” It had all been pretend, from her sweet, sophisticated side to her wild, adventurous side. From the many long talks they’d shared to all the hot sex. A sharp, metallic pain seared his chest and left him dizzy. He’d been such a fool.

  “Oh,” he finally said, his mouth gone a little numb—his voice came too quiet. “I thought maybe you just wanted to be with me and didn’t want to tell me. I thought maybe I…brought out other sides of you, brought out the Mandy in you. Seems I misunderstood.”

  With that, he turned and walked away. He had nothing else to say. Everything was painfully clear.

  “Benton, wait.”

  But he didn’t wait. He put one foot firmly in front of the other as he moved up the sidewalk, turning the corner, leaving her behind. Leaving Mindy. Or Mandy. Whoever the hell she was. For good.

  Benton spent Saturday night drinking. He called Phil and Mike and invited them to a small, quiet pub not far from his home. He’d thought the outing would cheer him up, but instead, it only brought him down lower. In addition to being happily married, Mike had two young sons, and Phil’s wife had just given birth to a baby girl six months ago. He’d known that when he invited them, of course, but just hadn’t anticipated an evening of hearing about how wonderful family life was. As a result, he kept ordering one vodka after another without ever telling his friends why, until Phil finally had to drive him home, Mike following in Benton’s car.

  He knew he’d have to call and explain that he wasn’t actually turning into a raging alcoholic as soon as he felt up to admitting what had really been wrong. When talk had turned to that recent date of his, the one they’d discussed at lunch a couple of weeks ago, he had simply lied and changed the subject. He wasn’t used to failing at anything—relationships or otherwise—so accounting for his current heartbreak to old pals wasn’t high on his list of “fun things to do.”

  And he’d have to cancel the party they were planning for his birthday, too. Phil had called him last week, saying they wanted to throw a bash for his upcoming thirty-fifth. “If we can find a cake big enough to hold all those candles,” Phil had joked, and Benton had laughed along because he’d been happy then—he’d been seeing Mandy and thinking life was good. He’d even offhandedly mentioned the party to her later, hoping she’d accompany him and meet his friends. As Mindy or Mandy—he hadn’t even cared much at the time.

  Now he wanted nothing to do with a party. For Benton, turning thirty-five with no prospects for a wife or a family was nothing to celebrate.

  On Sunday, he slept most of the day, hungover and defeated. He kept reliving the moment Mindy had told him the truth, the whole truth, the part he hadn’t seen coming. He’d been so sure, so arrogantly positive, that she’d masqueraded as Mandy because she wanted to be with him. It had never occurred to him there might be some other reason, let alone an embarrassing, patronizing one. He grimaced in disgust every time the memory assaulted him.

  Finally dragging himself out of bed, he showered and went to the fitness club he didn’t visit as often as he should. He thought he might take a run around the track, lift some weights, work through his frustrations with physical exertion. But his efforts proved weak, his energy zapped by the unexpected rejection that kept roaring through him. He’d known Mindy was a force to be reckoned with, but he’d never thought about how that force would affect him if he found out she didn’t really care for him.

  The worst part was, he’d truly wanted to marry her, pretenses be damned. He hadn’t quite known how much until she’d thrown her arms around him to the cheers of thousands of baseball fans, but then it had hit him, hard. And it had knocked him a little off-balance, but not much. He’d found far more excitement and joy in his time with her than he’d ever really believed a relationship could bring him. He’d been so mired in his work and ambitions for the past few years that maybe he’d forgotten there was more to life. He’d decided he wanted a wife because he needed a companion, someone to have children with and grow old beside—but his time with Mindy had shown him he could have so much more than that. He could see her being all those things to him, but also a thousand more he’d never even known he wanted.

  Yet it was not to be. He’d misunderstood. That simple.

  Upon returning home from his half-hearted workout, he found a message from the schemer herself on his voicemail.

  “Benton, this is…Mindy.”

  She sounded almost confused over who she was. A couple of days ago, that might’ve amused him, but no longer. Hearing her voice was at once a balm but also like ripping a scab off a wound that had just begun to heal. Okay, so it hadn’t really healed at all—but at least he’d started to accept that the good thing in his life was gone, that the plans he’d begun to make for the future were now nothing but impossible dreams.

  “Please call me. There’s so much mor
e to say. I’m so sorry about yesterday. Forgive me?”

  Forgive her? For her pretense? Yes. For breaking his heart? No.

  He didn’t call her back, didn’t even consider it. But he did open a bottle of Scotch from his liquor cabinet, refilling his glass long into the night.

  By the time Benton came straggling into the office the next morning, he was disgusted with himself. For one thing, he was late again. For another, he didn’t like the way he was handling this. He could excuse himself for one misspent weekend—especially after the shock Mindy had given him on Saturday afternoon—but he needed to snap out of it. He had a company to run. People who depended on him. Clients, employees. His father, who had built Maxwell Group from the ground up, then entrusted it to him.

  “Late again,” Claudia chided as he rushed off the elevator.

  Her voice made his head hurt. So far this morning, everything made his head hurt. Another good reason to figure a way out of his funk—he was too old to drink so much without suffering for it. “Won’t happen again,” he reported as if she were his superior—and without waiting for a response, he headed down the hall to the meeting he knew he was missing.

  As he burst through the door, every pair of eyes in the room, including those of Miss Binks, found his. “At last,” Percy Callendar said with a broad smile, “our fearless leader.”

  That hurt his head, too. He spoke quietly. “Perhaps not so fearless today, Percy.”

  When a noticeable pall fell over the entire table, Benton realized what he’d just done, the side of him he’d unthinkingly revealed. After promising himself he’d snap out of this, instead he was letting down people who saw him as strong and invincible. Clearly, a weak Benton frightened and worried them nearly as much as it did him.

  “What is it, Benton? I mean, Mr. Maxwell.” Miss Binks’ eyelashes fluttered nervously as she addressed him. “What’s wrong?”