Free The Last Man on Earth by Tracy Anne Warren Page B

smiled. “All right, I won’t.”
    “You don’t need to look so pleased by the prospect.” He took her hands, rubbing his thumbs over her palms as he brushed her lips with a kiss. “Until next weekend, then.”
    She nodded. “Yes, next weekend.”
    But that time already seemed so far away. Too far away. She hadn’t had nearly enough of him, not yet.
    She surprised them both a moment later when she dragged his head down and crushed her mouth to his for a long, intense kiss that left her breathless.
    “Wow.” Zack took a moment to steady himself. “Sure you don’t want to check back in? We could both call in sick tomorrow.”
    Tempting,
she thought,
definitely tempting.
She stroked a palm over his smoothly shaven cheek and gave him one last, lingering kiss. “Bye.”
    She turned, climbed into her car, and drove away.

C HAPTER SIX
    “H ere, try this.” Peg placed a paper napkin containing a thin, oval-shaped wafer near Madelyn’s elbow.
    Madelyn eyed it, deciding the color looked nasty enough to take a bite out of
her
. It was a particularly virulent shade of yellow, bright enough to outshine a fleet of school buses.
    “What is it?” she questioned in a wary voice.
    “The new product from Carmichael Foods. That’s part of the sample they sent over.”
    Madelyn picked the thing up with the same care she might have exercised around a letter bomb, then turned it over slowly, front to back to front.
    She lifted an eyebrow. “Cracker?”
    “Chip.”
    She gave it a tentative sniff. “Really?”
    “That’s what the package said.”
    “Have you tried one?”
    Peg had on her poker face. “Yes, but I want your unbiased opinion.”
    “Why do I get the feeling I’m being set up?”
    Peg settled into the visitor’s chair next to Madelyn’s desk, her expression still giving nothing away.
    Madelyn braced herself. “Well, here goes.” She popped it into her mouth and chewed.
    Her gag reflex kicked in a second later.
    Peg passed her a napkin.
    Madelyn took it and spat, going so far as to wipe off her tongue before she grabbed the bottle of water she kept on her desk. She drank and drank, wondering if the taste would ever go away.
    “My God,” she gasped, “that’s the worst thing I’ve ever tasted.”
    “That was my reaction too,” Peg agreed.
    “And you let me eat it!”
    Peg gave a mildly apologetic shrug. “I wanted to make sure it wasn’t just me.”
    “It wasn’t, I assure you. Did they test market these things?” She couldn’t bring herself to call them chips; they were an insult to corn and potato products everywhere.
    “Yes, according to the information forwarded with the sample, they were well liked, particularly by males aged twelve to sixteen.”
    “I don’t believe it. Rats wouldn’t eat that stuff. Or even teenage boys. And I’m supposed to come up with an ad campaign? I can see it now.” Madelyn lifted a hand to frame her imaginary slogan. “New! Ipecac in a Bag—the crunch will make you lose your lunch. Oh, or how about this? A bulimic’s best friend, no fingers required. I should have known there was a catch to having this account handed to me, since Mark Stinson lands most of the snack food and soft drink stuff.”
    “I know. Funny how his schedule became mysteriously overloaded.”
    “Yeah, right. Well, we’re stuck now.” Madelyn slumped back in her chair. “Obviously someone should tell Carmichael Foods their product’s a disaster, but if we do—”
    “The client will be unhappy,” Peg finished.
    “Exactly. And if we proceed with the ad campaign and the product tanks, which it will—”
    “The client will be unhappy.”
    “Not to mention the lead balloon response here at F and S.”
    The two of them shared a moment of gloom.
    Peg tapped a polished nail on the corner of Madelyn’s desk. “Larry should be the one to tell them.”
    Madelyn snorted. “Larry wouldn’t tell a mouse it was brown unless it snarled and held him at gunpoint.”
    Peg snickered.