Not What It Seems (Escape to Alaska Trilogy)

by Brenda Sinclair

  His arrogance, which he would consider forthrightness and confidence, definitely grated on her nerves. But his frosty attitude didn’t irritate her half as much, however, when he offered free drinks, sincere apologies, and lavish praise for her work. She’d witnessed him joking and laughing with the customers. Would he actually be fun outside the workplace?

  Clayton set the drink on the bar, added a straw, and slid the glass toward her. “Here you go. One Harvey Wallbanger.”

  “Thank you, sir. Tonight’s crowd wore me ragged. Very high maintenance.” Cassidy sipped her drink.

  “Tourists expect capital ‘S’ service while they’re on vacation. Especially those seniors.” Clayton popped the tab on a Miller and drank deeply. “Seniors are extremely impatient; they want their order yesterday. And they’re notoriously lousy tippers, still living in the ‘good old days’ when leaving a nickel beside your plate after a good meal was considered generous.”

  “Oh, please. They aren’t that bad.” Cassidy waved her hand, dismissively. “Those old folks love it when someone bestows a bit of attention upon them. Their children don’t spend time with them, and their grandchildren never visit. When I listen to their stories, they feel special during their vacation.”

  “That attitude earns you those generous tips.” Clayton smiled.

  Sherry appeared at Clayton’s side and handed him some paperwork. “These require your signature please.”

  While her boss perused and signed the documents, Cassidy took the opportunity to further consider her opinion of him.

  He was extremely articulate; she’d overhead him discussing a variety of current topics in the news with customers. She even caught snippets of conversation regarding stock options and tax shelters with the happy-hour white-collar crowd. She had to admit Clayton talked a good game. But what bartender required tax shelters?

  Just as Sherry retrieved the papers and headed back to her office, Cassidy finished her drink. She slid the glass across the bar. “Thank you, Clayton. That was delicious.”

  “Another round?” Clayton met her eyes, an expectant expression on his face.

  “No thank you. I’m driving home. One is enough.” Cassidy smiled. “But thank you for the offer.”

  “You’ve earned it.” Clayton slipped the dirty glass into the dishwasher rack and hauled it out to the kitchen.

  Cassidy smiled with contentment. She’d confided to Patricia that her new job felt like a vacation after working those long corporate hours in her father’s law firm. Eight hours on her feet, usually on the run, proved tiring but exceptionally rewarding. She enjoyed interacting with the customers and staff. Even Clayton participated in a bit of tomfoolery tonight with the bus load of seniors from Canada. She loved this job!

  Wouldn’t Dad suffer a conniption fit if he saw me now, she thought. All the thousands of dollars her law degree had cost him, and she was contentedly selling drinks to senior citizens on a northern getaway. She almost laughed aloud, imagining the horrified expression on Theodore Donahue’s face.

  Cassidy swung around on the barstool and gazed across the room. The cleaning staff had pushed the chairs aside to vacuum the carpeted areas, while one fellow mopped the hardwood dance floor sticky with spilled drinks. This workplace was miles from where she’d recently drawn a paycheck, she mused, in more ways than one.

  And then the most brilliant idea—something even more disturbing than learning his daughter was employed as a cocktail waitress—popped into her head.. What if her father tracked her down and discovered her dating a bartender? How eager would Dad be to learn that his grandchildren could be sired by a fellow managing a western bar, earning a few dollars north of minimum wage?

  “Payback if Dad ever tracked me down,” muttered Cassidy. The idea tickled her, beyond delicious, and was exactly what her father deserved for treating her so shabbily.

  Nothing serious would ever come of the perceived relationship, of course. The two of them could barely tolerate each other during an eight hour shift. But Dad wouldn’t be apprised of that bit of information. The heart arrhythmia resulting from such a discovery would serve him right. Demanding she accept Jonathan Ward’s proposal. Cassidy shivered at the mere thought of ‘happily ever after’ with that insincere jerk. Well, Cassidy had crossed paths with an arrogant jerk of her own, and she wasn’t above using him for her own purposes.

  The problem lay in coercing her boss into being her accomplice.

  Just then Clayton returned and slipped in behind the bar—his home away from home—and finished straightening the bottles, glassware and other bartender paraphernalia. He wouldn’t know what hit him, she decided, smiling to herself.

  Cassidy leaned forward on the barstool. “Clayton, I’m new in town, and I have a small request...”

  *

  “Are you serious?” Clayton shook his head, convinced he’d heard her wrong. She’d invited him to dinner at Endless Nights. Her treat! Call him a chauvinist, but his mama had raised him right. And hell would freeze over before Clayton allowed a woman to pay for a meal. Even an annoying woman like Cassidy Du Pont.

  “Of course, I’m serious.” Cassidy’s dentist-chair-whitened smile almost blinded him.

  “In your opinion, we could actually break bread together in public.” Clayton sniffed at the idea. “We wouldn’t finish the appetizer before one of us tore out the other’s throat.”

  “I’ll be on my best behavior. Scouts honor.” Cassidy raised her hand and presented the three-finger salute. “No arguing. No topics of conversation considered off limits.”

  “You haven’t been a Girl Scout in decades.” Clayton imagined her as a child in that cute little Scout uniform, her hair in pigtails and her face splattered with freckles, ringing doorbells and selling dozens of boxes of cookies.

  “That’s a mere technicality which doesn’t matter anyway. A Girl Scout lives by the code for life. And honor and honesty top the list.” Cassidy lowered her hand. “So, will you agree to a lovely evening together to partake of Patricia’s culinary delights?”

  “Whoa. Back up. You know Patricia? Patricia Graham, the executive chef from Endless Nights?” Clayton stood, hands on hips.

  “She’s my housemate. I attended…” Cassidy slammed her mouth shut; her smile vanished.

  “You attended what?” Clayton stared at her. She’d changed her mind about whatever she’d almost blurted out.

  “I attended an evening cooking course with her sister, Sheila. Sheila introduced me to Patricia.” Cassidy smiled, weakly. “Sheila and I have been friends for years. When I decided to move here, Sheila suggested I share Patricia’s home with her.”

  Clayton would bet his new Porsche she was lying. Cassidy couldn’t operate the bar’s coffee maker when she first started. Evening cooking course? Right. And he’d considered taking knitting lessons. “I dine at Endless Nights frequently. Patricia’s a top-rated chef. The owner is fortunate he snagged her.”

  “Patricia loves working there. The owner is absent, very hands off. Patricia’s been given free-rein to operate the business as her own. She couldn’t be happier.” Cassidy’s smile returned.

  “And you believe we could share a meal together and not create a scene in the most prestigious restaurant in downtown Anchorage?”

  “Not only do I believe it, I’ll prove it if you agree to meeting for dinner at seven o’clock next Sunday?” Cassidy stuck out her hand, he assumed, intending to shake on the idea.

  Clayton shook his head. Something just didn’t feel right.

  He’d bet anything that her auburn hair originated in a bottle. A soft brunette would better suit her coloring. Furthermore, Cassidy had eyed him suspiciously for days, dodged every innocent question regarding her past work and her previous home.

  Why the sudden change of heart?

  Clayton couldn’t put his finger on exactly what Cassidy intended to accomplish by dragging him downtown to dinner. And if Cassidy intended to pick up the check why not suggest some fast food place? A few cus
tomers suffered heart palpitations when they glanced at the prices on the menu at Endless Nights, but she offered to pay their bill on a waitress’s salary.

  She’s up to something.

  In the past whenever an overbearing woman attempted to attract his attention, Clayton heard a biological clock ticking as loud as Big Ben. But Cassidy didn’t appear ‘motherly’. He’d describe her as kind-hearted, warm, generous and caring. Someday she’d be a wonderful mother. Right now, he just didn’t see motherhood as a priority with her.

  She’s definitely up to something.

  Did Clayton have ‘meal ticket’ written on his forehead? Nobody ever accumulated wealth by waiting tables. Did Cassidy consider landing a guy in management as the means of attaining a more financially secure life for herself? She couldn’t have discovered who he really was. If he knew women, they couldn’t keep such a discovery to themselves. He hated to admit it, but she wasn’t a gold digger.

  Doesn’t matter. She’s still up to something.

  Clayton grabbed a wet cloth and mopped the counter top and mixing areas, dried them with a clean towel. Memories of Barbara, his gold digger fiancée, flashed through his mind. Within a two week period, that woman had racked up his credit cards, emptied his checking account, and slept with his best friend. And then she disappeared off the face of the earth. He’d been burned once, and he wasn’t going anywhere near that fire again.

  Clayton shook his head and tossed the cloths onto the counter. “Sorry. Dinner out together would amount to the most monstrous mistake imaginable. Plan on dining alone on Sunday, and every other night of the week, too, for that matter.”

  Cassidy dropped her hand onto the bar. She sat, open-mouthed with a murderous expression. “So, you’re just blowing me off.”

  “Looks that way,” muttered Clayton, sauntering toward the kitchen.

  Cassidy stood, charged through the swinging doors and stomped down the hallway toward the staff locker room.

  Clayton suspected he’d really ticked her off by refusing her invitation. But his ego still smarted from trusting Barbara with his heart and everything else. How could a woman profess her love for a guy and then treat him like crap? Quite easily apparently, if you’re an experienced gold digger and a first-class bitch like Barbara.

  Clayton worried though. Cassidy wasn’t a gold digger. But he suspected she wasn’t the type of woman who gave up easily. And she definitely looked the type who demanded revenge.

  Chapter 7

  “Clayton, a Coke, please.” Cassidy hopped onto a barstool at Gold Diggers before her shift started. Two weeks had passed since the bartender declined her dinner invitation.

  “Wouldn’t a cold beer go down better?” Clayton paused for her answer.

  “My shift starts shortly.” Cassidy smiled, sweetly. “No drinking on the job. One of your rules, remember?”

  “I didn’t realize you were scheduled to work tonight.” Clayton popped the metal tab on the Coke, grabbed a glass off the overhead rack, scooped up some ice, and slowly poured the soda in.

  “Right.” Cassidy frowned. “Certain you weren’t testing me?”

  Clayton raised one eyebrow and then set her drink in front of her. Without exchanging another word, he turned on his heel and strode to the far end of the bar.

  Cassidy downed half the beverage and placed the ice cold glass against her forehead. She almost sighed aloud with relief. The weather reached an unprecedented high today. She spent the entire morning wandering through tourist spots and then dropped by Endless Nights for a post lunch-rush meal with Patricia. Later at home, she napped in the shade on a backyard deck lounger and awoke in time to shower, change and dash to work.

  While she sipped her Coke, Cassidy observed Clayton out of the corner of her eye. He chatted with two women tourists—the white-haired grandmothers flirted shamelessly with him—and totally ignored her.

  She’d managed to alienate him further during the past two weeks, attempting to extract an acceptance to dinner from him. She’d used every excuse in the book: new to town, could use a friend, to repay him for praising her work. She’d suggested a steakhouse, a burger joint, even breakfast at a coffee house. Nothing had worked, however, and Clayton’s humiliating refusal to accept her invitations stung. The nerve of him! Finally, she’d vowed to win an invitation from Clayton on principal alone. And especially annoying was the fact she was actually attracted to the guy.

  Just then, a native man stepped into the bar carrying a battered guitar case in one hand. He wore a dark blue business suit, white shirt, and striped tie loosened at the neck. A braid of raven-black hair, secured with a beaded strip of hide, hung down his back. She caught a whiff of after-shave lotion as he walked past, but she couldn’t name the brand.

  “Hi, Rain Cloud,” muttered Clayton, glancing up from the Singapore Slings he was mixing.

  “Hello, White Boy.” The native man balanced his guitar case against the bar and then slumped onto a barstool.

  Clayton walked the Slings down to the end of the bar, set them in front of the ladies he’d chatted with, and then returned.

  “What’s new?” he asked.

  “Losing money on the stock market.” The native man scowled.

  “So then, nothing’s new, Chief.” Clayton bantered.

  “Not a damn thing.”

  “What can I get you?”

  “Why do you ask me that every time? You know damn well I never order anything but a double rye on ice.”

  “I always ask because it always annoys you. How was the vacation?”

  “Great.”

  Clayton’s cell phone rang, and he checked the caller ID. “Been waiting for this call. Be right back to pour your drink.” He headed toward the swinging doors in back, presumably on his way to his office.

  “No rush,” called Rain Cloud, as the bartender disappeared from sight.

  Cassidy overheard the entire conversation, and she’d almost choked on her Coke while listening to their exchange. She seriously doubted his real name was Chief Rain Cloud. Why does such an obviously professional, well-educated man tolerate such politically incorrect name-calling? she wondered. Judging by their banter, were Clayton and the native guy friends?

  Cassidy grabbed her Coke and hopped onto the stool beside him. She smiled and stuck out her hand. “Cassidy Du Pont.”

  The Chief’s eyebrows rose, and he appeared startled by her forwardness. Taking in her appearance, he shook her hand and asked, “Are you employed here?”

  “I started a few weeks ago.” Cassidy wore her short denim skirt, cowboy boots, and a white long-sleeved shirt rolled to the elbows. It didn’t require someone with a Mensa I.Q. to figure out she worked here. “I love the job more with each shift, and I adore the regulars I’ve met. But I haven’t encountered you before.”

  “Away on vacation.”

  “Sounds like you and Clayton are good friends.” Despite his grouchy demeanor, she saw wisdom, kindness, and perhaps even a little loneliness in the chocolate brown depths of his eyes.

  “Yes, I’d say we’re good friends.” Rain Cloud leaned back and crossed his arms.

  Cassidy checked her watch. “Still a half hour before my shift starts. Would you pass me some of those peanuts, please? And if you care to share, I’d love to hear how you and Clayton met.”

  “Well, Clayton and I became acquainted about a month after Gold Diggers opened. Must be two years now. Doesn’t seem we’ve been friends that long, but I guess we have.” Chief Rain Cloud placed the bowl of peanuts in front of Cassidy.

  “Thank you.” Cassidy shelled one and popped the peanut into her mouth.

  “Anyway, I wandered in here dressed like I am today, in my business suit and tie, and flopped onto a barstool at the end of the bar.” Rain Cloud grinned. “I growled my drink order at him, sounded about as pleasant as an old grizzly bear, and Clayton called me on it right away.”

  “What did he say?” asked Cassidy, and then sipped her Coke.

  “Informed me he
hadn’t witnessed such a serious case of ‘Leave me the hell alone, I’ve had a terrible day’ in ages. Pointed out that a big old black cloud followed me into the bar, and that’s when he started calling me Chief Rain Cloud.”

  “What’s taking Clayton so long?” Cassidy hopped off the barstool and strode behind the bar. She grabbed a short highball glass and added a small scoop of ice. “Is this your usual brand?” she inquired, holding up a bottle of Jack Daniels.

  “Got it right first try,” answered Rain Cloud.

  Cassidy measured two shots, pouring each into the glass, and set the drink in front of Rain Cloud before headed back to her barstool. “So, from the start you accepted this Rain Cloud thing?”

  “From the broad smile on Clayton’s face and the mischievous twinkle in his eye, I recognized his motive right away: having a little fun, attempting to elicit a smile out of me. He talked my damn ears off, and we even compared notes on colleges—NYU psychology degree for me, Seattle U Masters in Finance for him.” Rain Cloud lifted his glass, smiled at Cassidy accompanied by a toasting gesture, and then sampled his drink.

  Cassidy gaped. “Clayton earned a Masters in Finance?” So, I’m not the only person working here who’s not what they seem, she thought. A lowly bartender with a Masters? If she ever dated Clayton, and her father did find out, it would more likely impress him rather than tick him off. So much for her grand plan.

  “Yep. He mentioned resigning from his family’s accounting firm and relocating up here. Didn’t provide any reason, and I didn’t pry into his business. I consider my buddy Clayton a rebel with a shot glass.” Rain Cloud chuckled at his own joke.

  Cassidy swiveled on the barstool. Why would Clayton resign as an accountant to work as a bartender? Especially from a family firm? Had there been a falling out within the familial ranks? Had Clayton been charged with a crime? Surely, he hadn’t been stupid enough to attempt embezzling funds or some such thing. That couldn’t be it, she decided, or Gold Diggers’ owner wouldn’t have trusted him to manage his business. Perhaps he’d experienced something as innocent as burnout.