Not What It Seems (Escape to Alaska Trilogy)

by Brenda Sinclair

  “I used the name Du Pont in the bar only, and I don’t recall any of your rules stating a person cannot answer to anything other than their legal name.”

  “Some rules are just understood.” Clayton threw up his hands. Damn, the woman could be stubborn. And argue? No wonder she’d excelled as an attorney.

  Cassidy leapt out of the chair and glared at Clayton. “Fine, then. I quit! I would hate to break any of your precious rules, understood or otherwise. Between you and my father, I’ve followed enough rules to last me a lifetime. And look where it got me.” Cassidy stomped out of Clayton’s office and slammed the door.

  “Good riddance,” muttered Clayton. He kicked the garbage basket and then slumped into the chair behind his desk.

  He’d never encountered a female that so thoroughly fascinated him and annoyed him in equal measure. She wasn’t a social climber or worse yet a gold digger like most of the women he’d been involved with. And what annoyed him most was the fact that possibly she angered him because he cared too deeply about her.

  A minute later, someone knocked on his office door, and then Terry poked his head inside. “Whoa. What did you say to Cassidy?”

  “Apparently, she’s a little touchy about rules.” Clayton dragged a hand through his hair.

  “The woman stormed past me like a hurricane, shouted ‘see you around’ and lit out of here like her tail feathers were on fire.” Terry shook his head.

  “She quit.” Clayton swore under his breath. Damn women. He’d never understand the opposite sex if he lived to be a hundred.

  Why hadn’t Cassidy simply informed him of her true identity and trusted him to respect her reasons for anonymity? And then he recalled her spouting off about not making partner in her father’s law firm even though she’d earned it. Theodore Donahue, as he recalled, had controlled their conversation to the point Clayton had even slipped and mentioned growing up in Seattle. And during the father-daughter confrontation, if Donahue had tossed Cassidy over his shoulder and hauled her out of the bar, Clayton wouldn’t have been surprised. In the past, Theodore Donahue had probably controlled every decision regarding his daughter’s life. And Cassidy hadn’t known Clayton from Adam when she first started work here. Perhaps in Cassidy’s case, trust was in short supply.

  “Why on earth would she quit? She loves working here.” Terry stood, arms crossed, glaring at his boss and best friend.

  “I discovered Cassidy is not the person she represented herself to be. She’s no damn student earning college tuition. She’s a Chicago debutante with a law degree. Her father owns a prestigious law firm, and her mother hails from old money.”

  “So, she wasn’t who she seemed. Sounds like someone else I know. Pretends he’s just an Average Joe bartender, but in reality he’s a…”

  Clayton waved away Terry’s argument with his hand. “Different matter altogether. I’m not lying to an employer.”

  “Oh, right. There are different rules for employees and employers. You keep telling yourself that, especially on cold Alaskan nights, sleeping in a lonely bed by yourself. Cassidy’s perfect for you: refined, intelligent, beautiful, down-to-earth, caring.” Terry’s expression suggested he knew an argument was forthcoming.

  Clayton didn’t intend to disappoint him. “There are dozens of women out there just as qualified.”

  “Well, they aren’t lining up at the front door. Cassidy’s gotten under your skin. And she sure as hell ain’t after your damn money.” Terry strode toward the door, turned back, and glared at his boss.

  “What?” demanded Clayton.

  “I hope I never win a lottery if wealth makes folks as paranoid as you are.” Terry stormed out of Clayton’s office.

  After his lifelong friend left him alone, Clayton spent a lot of time thinking.

  *

  Cassidy ran across the parking lot, unlocked Fiona, and slid into the driver’s seat. She tossed her purse onto the passenger seat, laid her head on the steering wheel, and wept. After fifteen minutes of self-indulged feeling-sorry-for-herself, she yanked a tissue out of the box between the seats and dried her eyes.

  “Clayton Morrison, I hate you,” yelled Cassidy, pummeling the center of the steering wheel with her fisted hand.

  She couldn’t believe he’d investigated her, like she was a common criminal.

  She cringed, recalling his anger. And why? Because she’d used her mother’s maiden name and lied about the reason she needed the job? So what! She hadn’t broken any laws or attempted to commit a crime using an alias. What harm had been done? No harm at all, except to Clayton’s ego.

  Cassidy started Fiona and drove home, feeling totally dejected.

  Ginger greeted her at the front door, and Cassidy scooped the cat up in her arms.

  “Hi, sweetie,” murmured Cassidy, burying her face in the cat’s fur. And then her tears flowed again.

  “I loved that job, Ginger.” Cassidy blubbered. “And Clayton forced me to quit. He accused me of being dishonest. And I’m not. I’m a good person. You know that, right, Ginger?”

  “Why are you asking my cat for a character reference?” Patricia suddenly appeared in the foyer.

  Cassidy almost dropped the cat. “Oh, crap, you nearly scared me to death. What are you doing at home? I thought you left for work an hour ago?”

  “I did. But I developed a migraine and decided to sneak home for a quick nap in hopes of recovering before the lunch rush.” Patricia leaned against the wall, holding a cold cloth on her forehead. “Why are you here? I thought Clayton called you into work early?”

  “No, I said Clayton summoned me to his office.” Cassidy kissed Ginger on the top of the head and set her on the floor. “I never mentioned anything about work. And it’s a moot point now anyway.”

  “How so?” Patricia headed down the hallway toward the kitchen. “Want a cup of tea?”

  “No to the tea. Yes to a beer.” Cassidy almost crashed into Patricia when she abruptly halted and whipped around.

  “You can’t drink beer if you’re working in a half hour.”

  “Who mentioned working?” Cassidy waved Patricia forward again. “In order to work, one requires a job. And since I’m no longer employed…I’m not working.”

  “You got fired?”

  “I quit!” Cassidy held her head high. “Actually, Clayton might have fired me, but I beat him to it. That man is the most unreasonable person on the face of the earth.”

  “Oh-oh.” Patricia shook her head and then grimaced. “What happened? Did you argue with him to the point of distraction? Or offer an opinion that wasn’t asked for? Or some other lawyer thing?”

  “None of the above.” Cassidy crossed her arms and stuck out her hip. “The man investigated me, discovered my true name and occupation. He accused me of being dishonest. Apparently, dishonesty and deception are cardinal sins in his eyes. And he wouldn’t accept my reason, that I couldn’t risk Dad locating me.”

  “So you quit?”

  “Nobody accuses me of dishonesty.” Cassidy slumped onto a center island barstool. “I’m a damn talented attorney, and I don’t need his stupid waitressing job any longer.”

  “I detect a discrepancy in your logic, Miss Donahue.” Patricia wagged a finger at her. “I distinctly heard you telling Ginger that you loved that job. During your tirade, there wasn’t any mention of ‘stupid’, and I’ll swear to that on the witness stand.”

  “It’s your word against Ginger’s…and she won’t talk.” Cassidy smiled.

  “What are your plans?”

  “Plans? Who’s made plans?” Cassidy tapped the counter with her fingernail. “I’ve been unemployed for twenty minutes. Give me some time to regroup, okay?”

  Just then the doorbell rang, and continued ringing persistently.

  “Ten bucks says it’s Sherry,” called Patricia on her way down the hallway.

  Cassidy rested her head on her crossed arms atop the countertop.

  “What were you thinking?” demanded Sherry, stomping
into the kitchen. She tossed her purse onto the countertop, missing Cassidy’s head by mere inches.

  “You owe me ten bucks,” muttered Patricia, pouring water into the coffeemaker.

  Sherry paced the tiled floor. “Clayton just informed me you quit your job. What happened to ‘thanks for giving me this job, Sherry?’ and ‘you’re a life saver, Sherry” and ‘I love this job, Sherry!’ and the other malarkey you’ve obviously been feeding me.”

  ”That was the truth, Sherry, and you know it.” Cassidy’s eyes welled. “You assured me Clayton would never discover my identity. Well, he discovered it today, and he’s damn angry about it.”

  “No, Miss Donahue, or Du Pont, or whoever you are today.” Sherry glared at Cassidy. “I precisely told you Clayton wouldn’t learn your identity from the accounting firm. I never said anything about the Internet or a P.I. if he hired one, or however the hell he learned who you are.”

  “Apparently, his brother-in-law is a cop.”

  “A cop?” Sherry shook her head. “What brother-in-law? He’s never mentioned a brother-in-law. Of course, he never talks about family. I figured he was an orphan.”

  “Well, he’s obviously not an orphan. What do you know about Clayton?” Cassidy picked up Ginger who’d been circling her ankles. “Perhaps I should investigate his miserable mysterious butt, since he felt justified in investigating me.”

  “But Cassidy, you hid your identity from him. What grounds have you for initiating an investigation of Clayton?” Patricia flipped the ‘ON’ button on the coffeemaker.

  “Turnabout is fair play. Or curiosity killed the cat. Sorry Ginger,” added Cassidy, stroking the feline’s silky ears. She sounded childish, but so what. She wouldn’t be victimized further by Clayton; she’d already forfeited a job she’d loved.

  “And just imagine what I might learn,” she whispered in Ginger’s ear.

  Chapter 17

  “Do you realize it is eight damn o’clock in the damn morning?” Sherry stood on the front doorstep, dressed in light gray sweat pants, a faded black t-shirt, and fluffy pink slippers. “I worked until three a.m., and you wake me at this ungodly hour. Tell me what in hell is so important!”

  “Sorry.” Cassidy admitted her extremely angry, sleep-deprived friend into Patricia’s house. “I brewed a pot of coffee.”

  “It’ll require a damn sight more than a cup of coffee to appease me. Your first born might do it. Emphasis on the might.” Sherry followed Cassidy through the house to the kitchen.

  “Hi, Sherry.” Patricia stood in her pajamas, leaning against the island, drinking coffee.

  “Hi, Patricia.” Sherry flopped onto a barstool, leaned her elbows on the island countertop, and glared at Cassidy. “Life or death was your exact words. This had better be good.”

  “This situation is a case of life or death—my life and Clayton’s death. You would not believe what I’ve just learned.” Cassidy paced the floor, fuming.

  “Is someone threatening to kill Clayton?” Patricia straightened on the stool.

  “Not unless you include me.” Cassidy glanced at her housemate.

  “I dragged myself out of bed and drove over here like a maniac. What’s so all-fired important?” Sherry slid off the barstool and poured her own coffee.

  “I wish I knew.” Patricia yawned. “She woke me out of a sound sleep and a dream involving me and Dermot Mulroney on a deserted beach. Whipped the covers off me, dragged me out to the kitchen, and attempted to placate me with coffee. Then she refused to divulge a single thing until you arrived.”

  “What I learned is frigging unbelievable. I haven’t been this angry since I lost the partnership to that miserable excuse for a human being, Jonathan Ward. I could shoot Clayton without an ounce of remorse.” Cassidy stewed. “And an all female jury wouldn’t convict me either!”

  “What on earth did you learn?” asked Sherry.

  “I investigated Clayton, since he felt duty bound to investigate me. My godfather is a special agent with the F.B.I. I call him Uncle Bobbie, but he was actually my father’s college roommate. Anyway, I telephoned Uncle Bobbie this morning for help, and he called me back within a half hour with the most incredible information.”

  “Tell me!” shouted Sherry and Patricia in unison, obviously losing their patience.

  “Would you believe Clayton Morrison is actually Clayton Edwards? And Clayton Edwards is wealthier than my father.”

  Sherry glanced at Patricia. “This is too bizarre for her to be making it up.”

  “The guy grew up in Seattle. Clayton worked in the family accounting firm, utilizing his Masters Degree in Finance if you please, until three years ago when he relocated here. His father invested in a certain little Seattle software company in its infancy, and the whole family is damn millionaires!” Cassidy glared at Sherry, fire in her eyes.

  It required a few seconds for Sherry to grasp the full meaning of Cassidy’s words. “You mean his father invested in…”

  “Precisely!” shouted Cassidy.

  Patricia joined Sherry on one of the other barstools.

  “Clayton fooled all of us; he’s richer than God.” Cassidy paced and waved her arms about like an orchestra conductor on crack while she spoke. “He presented himself to the world as a damn bartender. The bastard owns Gold Diggers! And he owns Precious Gems and Endless Nights, too.”

  Patricia choked on her coffee and spluttered, “He owns my restaurant?”

  “And he owns my Gold Diggers?” Sherry shook her head. “I can’t believe what I’m hearing.”

  “Believe it!” Cassidy stood, fists clenched.

  “I’m shocked. Some people certainly aren’t what they seem.” Sherry shook her head. “Aren’t the two of you just a pair?”

  “What do you mean by that?” Cassidy glared at the two women seated across from her.

  “You weave a wild tale about being a poor college student earning tuition money, and Clayton claims he’s a bartender, managing Gold Diggers for the owner.” Sherry stood. “You two deserve each other!”

  “Keeping my whereabouts a secret was imperative. That was a totally different thing.” Cassidy crossed her arms.

  “Not so different in my books,” said Sherry.

  “Mine either,” added Patricia

  Suddenly, Cassidy stumbled across the floor and plopped onto the stool that Sherry had just vacated. “Oh…my…God. He knows,” whispered Cassidy, feeling the blood drain out of her face.

  Sherry’s eyes had followed Cassidy’s unsteady progress across the floor. A concerned expression crossed her face. “Are you okay? You just turned white as a ghost.”

  “Who knows?” Patricia frowned and glanced at Sherry.

  “And what does he know?” Sherry rushed to Cassidy’s side.

  “My father knows who the real Clayton is!” Cassidy shouted; her face reddened with anger. “Forget seeing my point of view. Forget accepting my independence. That’s the real reason why he encouraged me to stay here and work at Gold Diggers.”

  “Correct me if I’m mistaken, but wasn’t staying in Anchorage and working at Gold Diggers precisely what you wanted?” Patricia tilted her head.

  “Well, yes. But Dad’s doing it again,” spat Cassidy. “Dad considers Clayton Edwards acceptable son-in-law material.”

  “Well, your father is right. Clayton is perfect for you, and the guy is loaded,” reasoned Sherry.

  Patricia nodded in agreement.

  Cassidy straightened on the stool. “If Clayton owns that bar, then he named it. He believes all women are nothing more than untrustworthy, gold diggers. I’d wager my trust fund, some woman emptied his bank account.”

  “Probably did a number on his heart, too,” added Patricia.

  Sherry frowned, concentrating. “So now, Clayton hides his identity to test everyone he meets. Otherwise, as he sees it, every woman would just consider him a walking bank account. And he wouldn’t know if male acquaintances liked him for Clayton the regular guy, or Clayton the million
aire.”

  “Regardless of his motives, that doesn’t justify him treating me like slug scum because I fabricated an identity, too. When I recall how he ranted about my dishonesty, my deception.” Cassidy’s fists clenched, and then she gasped. “No wonder he didn’t call me for another date. He considered me nothing more than a gold digger, too. Until he learned the truth about me, he believed I was just another low-paid waitress hoping to score the manager for a husband. And then when he discovered who I was, he probably considered me unworthy.”

  “Surely you and Clayton can overcome this. You’re perfect for each other.” Sherry grabbed Cassidy’s arm, turned her around and met her eyes. “Remember the wonderful date you had at his house?”

  “She filled me in on all the details, too. And I thought the same thing—a match made in heaven.” Patricia finished her coffee and carried her mug to the sink.

  “Promise me you’ll confront Clayton with this.” Sherry clasped Cassidy’s arm. “Force him to admit who he is. Once everyone’s secrets are out on the table, you can build a future together. Kiss and make up.”

  Cassidy scowled. “I’d rather kiss Riley!”

  Sherry frowned, “That damn puppy again.”

  “Sheila’s Riley?” Patricia tilted her head, frowning. “What does my sister’s puppy have to do with this?”

  “Forget my advice; do whatever you want. I’m washing my hands of the whole business, Cassidy,” called Sherry, on her way down the hallway.

  A few seconds later the front door slammed shut.

  “Well, I’m going back to bed. I’m hoping Dermot is still on that beach.” Patricia scratched her head, fluffed her tousled locks. “If you require bail money after you confront Clayton, call me.”

  Cassidy mulled over Sherry’s words in her mind, until she’d given herself a headache. She’d considered all the possibilities: ignore what she’d learned, confront Clayton with her findings, go postal and shoot Clayton Edwards for treating her so unfairly.

  She enjoyed her new-found freedom too much to risk incarceration for twenty-five to life. Thus, she’d ruled out option three immediately.