The Perfect Dish by Kristen Painter Read Free Book Online Page A

proved her point about the maturity levels in men. Or rather the lack of maturity levels. Really.
    No email from Jason. Not even a text. Not that her son would be sitting in front of his computer on a Saturday night or even thinking of his mother. With a huff, she tapped the touch pad and surfed the web aimlessly, her thoughts churning.
    Somebody ought to straighten the men of the world out. Well, at least one man in particular. Women weren’t toys for Chef Spicer’s amusement. Or any man’s, for that matter. Playboys like Chef Spicer were just the worst of the lot. Jason had better not end up like that. He’d been raised better.
    Suddenly inspired, she clicked to her blog and opened up a new post. Her fingers flew over the keyboard, a satisfied smile spreading over her face.
    * * *
    Right after her personal Pilates instructor left on Monday morning, Meredith’s cell rang. Grabbing the phone, she settled in at her desk and checked the caller ID.
    “Hi, Jill—”
    “Are you insane?”
    Good publicists were so hard to find. “Good morning to you, too, Jillian.”
    “Do you know which magazine just called to cancel their interview with you?”
    Meredith turned on her laptop. “Is this a trick question?”
    “This isn’t funny.” Jillian huffed, fuzzing up the line. “ Bacall’s no longer thinks your platform is appropriate for their readers.” She paused for breath. “And do you know why the number one woman’s magazine in the United States no longer think it’s appropriate, Meredith? Do you know?”
    “I bet you’re going to tell me.” Jillian was such an alarmist. Meredith brought up her inbox.
    “I’m glad making my job so difficult amuses you. Maybe that can be your next blog post,” Jillian screeched.
    “What does my blog—”
    “ The Merry Widow is due out in less than four months. You keep posting diatribes like that and they’re going to rename it The Man-Hating Harpy .”
    “Diatribes? I hardly think you can call that post a diatribe. More of discussion, really.”
    “A discussion? Let me read you a few lines to refresh your memory. I’ve printed it out because my eyes glaze over every time I try to focus on the screen.”
    “Now, Jillian...” The woman certainly had a flair for the dramatic.
    “Men are vile, single-celled organisms requiring exhaustive amounts of energy to sustain them. What do they think we are? Energizer Playboy bunnies? Womenkind is better off without them. We live longer, are capable of handling our emotions with maturity and aren’t controlled by our baser physical urges. We are superior creatures in every aspect of our being. Beyond reproduction, what is man’s purpose? I don’t know and I no longer care to find out. I suggest staying single is the only sane solution and one I now firmly encourage.” She paused for a breath. “Shall I continue or is it coming back to you?”
    Oh my. Four hundred seventeen emails. “Yes, well...in my defense, I did have a few drinks last night.” Meredith cleared her throat. It had sounded so logical at 11:55 PM.
    “What were you drinking? Grain alcohol?”
    “I’ll rewrite it, tone it down a bit.” That should do the trick. Most of those emails were probably spam.
    “Tone it down?” Jillian sounded as though she was hyperventilating.
    “I’ll delete it.” Meredith rolled her eyes. So much for the truth setting you free.
    “Too late. After the call from Bacall’s and reading your post, I googled you. By nine AM, you’d been quoted by at least eight different bloggers, linked to by a dozen others and don’t get me started on the women’s forums and online communities. This needs serious damage control or The Merry Widow’s sales are going fall apart in a million little pieces, if you get my drift.”
    A beep on the line saved her from replying. “Just a moment, I have another call coming through.”
    She switched over. “Hello?”
    “Tell me someone hijacked your blog. Tell me you got hacked. That’s what