Bait by Karen Robards Page A

thought, right about now the Joker seemed positively warm and fuzzy in comparison.
    â€œWe have other ideas, of course,” Maddie said, improvising hastily, because as of the end of that video they were pretty much fresh out. “Take, for example, your packaging.”
    â€œWhat’s wrong with our packaging?” Mrs. Brehmer asked, bristling.
    â€œNothing’s wrong with it. Only ...” Fighting the urge to wet her lips, Maddie turned to gesture at the blowup of the sack of Brehmer’s Dog Chow that was standing on an easel in the corner. It was an uninspiring brown with a dark green stripe across one corner, absolutely ripe for a makeover, whether the suggestion had been planned or not. “In today’s marketplace, the name of the game is attracting attention. You might want to think about going with brighter colors, perhaps even something as bold as fuchsia or lime green. Research has shown that the primary buyer of pet food is a middle-aged woman with a family, and bright colors have been found to hold the most appeal for her as well as having the added bonus of jumping off the shelf visually.”
    â€œHmmph,” Mrs. Brehmer said. “My husband designed that bag himself. Brehmer’s Dog Chow has always come in a brown bag.” Her gaze slid from Maddie to Susan. Her voice sharpened even as its volume dropped. “You. I need a glass of water.”
    Susan started.
    â€œYes, Mrs. B. of course. I’ll get it right away,” she murmured, and moved toward the door. Since the door was located behind Maddie, Maddie got a good look at Susan’s expression as she went by. Instead of rolling her eyes or seeming angry, as Maddie would have expected (actually, one or both of which she probably would have been guilty of herself), Susan merely looked more anxious than ever. Perhaps, Maddie thought, terminal anxiety was her natural expression.
    White nodded at Mrs. Brehmer. “That’s a good point, Joan. If we change our bag, our customers won’t know what to look for. That brown bag is a Brehmer tradition.”
    The other men nodded agreement.
    â€œWe’re pretty big on tradition around here, young lady. Somebody should have warned you,” Bellamy said to Maddie, wagging his pencil at her. “Fuchsia and lime-green packaging may attract some customers’ attention, but it won’t tell them that it’s us.”
    â€œThat’s where the national advertising campaign comes in, Mr. Bellamy. After they see spots featuring the redesigned bags on TV, your customers will know it’s Brehmer’s, and they will buy, because it’s the same quality product they love at the same fair price they’re used to paying. And you’ll pick up new customers, younger customers who will stay with your products for years, because of the new, hip packaging, and fun ads that make them laugh.”
    Bellamy tapped the eraser end of his pencil on the table and gave a skeptical grunt. Still smiling gamely, Maddie felt almost sick as she read the handwriting on the wall: They weren’t going to get the account. After all the expense of coming, the worry and hard work, and the nightmare of last night and today, they were going to come up empty.
    It was as clear as the expression on the prospective clients’ faces.
    Maddie swallowed. If Creative Partners didn’t start landing some big accounts soon, the money was going to run out. Their current clients provided more or less steady work, but the billing from them barely covered all the monthly expenses. And, sometimes, it didn’t even do that.
    Of course, given what had happened last night, she might not have to worry about such mundane matters as company finances much longer ...
    â€œWe’re a big believer in tradition ourselves.” Jon jumped boldly into the breach when, Maddie realized, she had remained silent too long. All eyes, including Maddie’s, turned to him as he joined