Southern Comforts by Joann Ross Read Free Book Online

paused for an unnecessarily lengthy time, “I’ll bite. What are you talking about?”
    â€œI had an interesting offer for you after the interview aired.”
    Chelsea thought about Nelson’s ongoing argument that she belonged on television. “If it’s from the network, suggesting I replace Joan Lundon, tell them the answer’s no.”
    â€œActually, the call was from Roxanne Scarbrough.”
    That was a surprise. “What in the world could America’s Diva of Domesticity want with me?”
    â€œShe’s looking for a biographer.”
    â€œNo way.” Chelsea folded her arms across the front of her silk jacket. In defiance of the weather, her suit was a splash of bright, sunshine yellow. “I’d rather swim naked in the East River with a bunch of killer sharks than work with that woman.”
    Mary Lou’s eyes narrowed, revealing surprise at Chelsea’s adamant refusal. “Am I missing something here?”
    â€œLet’s just say that Roxanne Scarbrough and I had a slight personality clash and leave it at that.” Actually, it had been dislike at first sight—as clear and strong as one hundred proof grain alcohol.
    â€œRoxanne thinks the world of you.”
    Chelsea seriously doubted that Roxanne thought of anyone but herself. It also did not escape her notice that her agent and Roxanne Scarbrough seemed to be on a first-name basis.
    â€œTell me you’re not that Steel Magnolia from hell’s agent.”
    It was no secret that Mary Lou Wilson had migrated to Manhattan from somewhere in the deep South. Indeed, the agent, while outwardly appearing the epitome of New York chic, went out of her way to cultivate her image as a publishing outsider. Chelsea had noticed, on more than one occasion, that the more prolonged the contract negotiations, the more Mary Lou’s voice took on a sultry slow cadence of the South, causing more than one misguided editor to let down her guard. Which with Mary Lou, Chelsea reminded herself now, was always a mistake.
    â€œAs it happens, Roxanne is one of my oldest clients,” Mary Lou confirmed.
    â€œAnd one of the most profitable, too, I’ll bet,” Chelsea muttered.
    She glanced around the professionally decorated office, seeing it with new eyes, now that she realized the attractive furnishings she’d always admired had undoubtedly been selected by the most vicious mouth in the South.
    â€œYou know I never discuss other clients’ earnings,” Mary Lou said mildly.
    â€œI can’t believe you can even stand to be in the sameroom with that woman.” Chelsea studied the exquisite Ming vase on its ebony pedestal she’d always admired and wondered if it had been purchased with Mary Lou’s fifteen percent of Roxanne Scarbrough’s latest bestselling cookbook, Just Desserts.
    â€œRoxanne is a bit of a challenge from time to time,” Mary Lou admitted with what Chelsea decided had to be the understatement of the millennium. “But she’s garnered the major percentage of the life-style market, and her fans love her.”
    It crossed Chelsea’s mind that were she to write the truth about the beloved life-style maven, all those fans would disappear like Roxanne’s famous beer-battered popcorn shrimp at a Super Bowl party.
    Although she’d throw herself off the top of the Empire State Building before admitting it, she’d actually tried the recipe at her last party and earned raves from all the guests. Even Nelson, who considered himself a gourmand, had been impressed.
    â€œWhy doesn’t she have her usual cowriter do the book?”
    â€œGlenda Walker is excellent at interpreting Roxanne’s creative vision to the written word. But something like an autobiography is, quite honestly, beyond her talents.”
    â€œYou know I don’t want to ghostwrite.” And even if she did, Roxanne Scarbrough would not be on the top of her list of