Deep Dish by Mary Kay Andrews Read Free Book Online Page B

cooking show, right? It’s all about the food, right? And despite your problem complexion and caffeine addiction, nobody’s food is better than yours.”
    “Scott says it’s not about the food at all,” Gina said quietly. “That’s why he told you he wants to sharpen up my look. Make me blonder. Cuter. It’s why I can’t wear my glasses on camera, and I had to buy a whole new wardrobe for the new season. Low-cut tops, brighter colors. And obviously, Tate Moody’s producer is just as concerned about his looks, or she wouldn’t have sent him to see you.”
    “I could help him,” D’John said, his face taking on a dreamy quality. “Give him a decent haircut, add some texture, some layers, maybe some chunky color around the face. And of course, the skin needs a lot of work. The clothes, too. I’d put him in earth tones—”
    “D’John!” Gina said, punching him in the arm. “Whose side are you on here?”
    “Beauty doesn’t take sides,” he said primly.
    “Well, you’d better,” she said. “Or don’t bother to come slinking around my set looking to be fed anymore.”
    “Bitch,” D’John said, giving her an air kiss so as not to muss her makeup.
    “Pissy old queen,” she said fondly, air-kissing him back. “What time do you want me to come over tonight?”
    “Make it eight,” he said. “You want Jade Palace or China Doll?”
    “Jade Palace,” she said quickly. “But no moo shu pork for me. And no rice. Just some egg-drop soup and some steamed ginger shrimp.”
    “B-o-r-ing,” D’John sang. “See you at eight, then.”

Chapter 9
    S cott was standing on the Fresh Start set, deep in conversation with two black-clad men who pretty much had to be the visiting executives from The Cooking Channel.
    “Here’s my girl,” he called, catching sight of her. He trotted over to her side. “What took you so long?” he whispered, his lips brushing her cheek, a proprietary arm flung casually across her shoulder. “I’ve been calling you all morning. Didn’t you get my messages?”
    “Don’t push your luck,” she warned, wriggling out of his embrace. “I got your last messages, about the Cooking Channel people. That’s the only reason I’m here. Because I’m a pro. But I am not your girl.” She looked him straight in the eye. “Are we clear on that?”
    Stung, he took a quick step backward. “Clear,” he muttered. “As long as we’re being professionals here, remember it’s your career on the line here today, not just mine. The Cooking Channel wants a southern cooking show in their new fall lineup. They’re looking at you, and one other guy. This is our big break, Gina. For real. I know you’re pissed at me, but don’t blow this, okay?”
    “Pissed?” She gave a humorless little laugh. “Oh, Scott. You are so clueless.”
    “Barry,” Scott said, to the shorter, older of the two men. “This is—”
    “Regina Foxton. Of course,” Barry Adelman said, clasping Regina’s hand between both of his own. “Younger and much sexier even than you look on camera.” His accent was not what she’d expected. Not Brooklyn, or Queens, not even all that northern—midwestern maybe.
    He was mid-forties, she thought. Quite short, with a head that looked too big for his compact body; tiny, elfin ears pressed close to his head; and gray hair, thinning on top, but in the back sweeping to the neckline of his collarless black silk T-shirt. He was dressed entirely in black, of course. Expensive black. Soft shirt, soft black trousers, and sockless feet in complicated-looking Italian leather sandals.
    “You’re too sweet,” Regina murmured. “I’m so glad to meet you. I’m a huge TCC fan—”
    “No,” Adelman corrected her. “We’re the big fans. Of you. And Fresh Start . Those tapes Scott sent. I gotta tell you, it takes a lot to get me excited. But I am very excited about you. And your show.”
    “Barry’s wife was the one who got him to call me,” Scott started to say.
    “My