Free Not What It Seems (Escape to Alaska Trilogy) by Brenda Sinclair

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