Read Online Guilt by Association by Marcia Clark - Free Book Online

ambience. Walking into the lobby always felt like I’d been enfolded in the embrace of a Rubenesque duchess.
    To my right stood a group of very blond middle-aged couples beside a mound of luggage bearing Lufthansa stickers. Adorned
     in clunky sandals, black socks, and Bermuda shorts—deliberatelysnubbing both L.A. winter and fashion—they waited as their leader tried to claim their room reservations in a thick accent
     that the clerk was struggling mightily to decipher. I nodded to Tommy, the night manager, who gave me a brief smile and a
     wave. As he moved toward the clerk, I heard the group leader’s voice grow louder. Though it never works, everyone tries to
     scale the language barrier with volume.
    I pulled open the heavy, darkly tinted glass door of the bar and felt the familiar hush created by thick carpets, soft lights,
     and rich upholstery. The door closed slowly behind us as we stepped into the cool, quiet darkness. Frank Sinatra sang “Witchcraft”
     over the muted tinkle of glasses, and I took in the scene as we moved toward the bar.
    A group of four older men in conservative dark suits huddled in one of the forest-green leather booths to the right of the
     fireplace. In the middle of the room sat two young bare-legged women in tight, expensive suits, sipping cosmopolitans on one
     of the overstuffed sofas—either lawyers or hookers trying to look like lawyers.
    My buddy and favorite bartender, Drew Rayford, was drying a manhattan glass as Bailey and I climbed onto the leather stools
     at the end of the long, brass-trimmed mahogany bar. We sat beneath a photograph of a famous jockey, the horse’s bridle in
     one hand and a winner’s cup in the other.
    “Rachel, Bailey,” Drew said, nodding to each of us. I could feel Bailey heat up next to me as she nodded back at Drew. He
     looked particularly elegant tonight, in dark slacks and a white shirt and black vest that emphasized a disgustingly narrow
     waist. The white collar provided a sharp yet stunning contrast with his black skin, and the single diamond stud he wore in
     his left ear glittered as he moved through the soft light emanating from behind the bar. Tall, gorgeous, and smooth as silk,
     Drew had too many options when it came to women. Unfortunately for them, his priority was openinghis own upscale bar one day, and he intended for that day to come sooner than later. Socializing was last on his list. As
     a result, I had a feeling no woman saw him half as much as I did.
    “Ladies?” he asked.
    “Glenlivet rocks, water back,” Bailey replied.
    “I’ll have a Bloody Mary,” I said.
    “I see,” Drew said with a small smile.
    A Bloody Mary at night meant only one thing—hangover time—and no one knew it better than Drew. It’s the downside of living
     here. Everyone knows me… and my habits. I rolled my eyes. “And we’re having dinner,” I added.
    “Well, good for us. I’m guessing you’ll be wanting this too,” he said as he scooped up a glass of ice, filled it with water,
     and put it on the bar in front of me. I waited until he’d moved off to get the menus and our drinks. I slugged down most of
     the water in one long gulp and pushed the glass over in front of Bailey, not wanting Drew to know that he’d accurately assessed
     my condition—seriously, couldn’t I have some privacy?
    “I feel used,” Bailey said, giving me a sidelong glance.
    I reached for the silver tray of snack bowls that Drew filled with something different every week. Tonight’s offerings were
     kalamata olives, endive, and spicy almonds. “You heard anything about Jake Pahlmeyer’s case?” I asked Bailey as I treated
     myself to an olive.
    Before she could answer, Drew brought our drinks, then gave us the menus and spread large white napkins out on the bar in
     front of us.
    Bailey looked at him for a beat. “Thanks,” she said with a slow smile.
    Drew looked back at her for what seemed to me an obnoxiously long time. “You’re very