Bad Influence. Kristin Hardy

      P AIGE SAT AT HER desk in her home office, talking into her headset while she simultaneously packed files into her laptop case.

      “Yes, I know it’s going to be a big delay, Alma. I know you were planning to have everything redone by June in time for Peter’s graduation. But it’s a family emergency and I don’t have a choice.”

      “I hope you realize what an imposition this is to me,” a tart voice said into her ear.

       Next time I’ll have my grandfather plan his accidents better, Alma. “Yes, of course. If you’d prefer to take the project to another designer, I’ll understand,” Paige said and crossed her fingers. A few seconds ticked by.

      “I don’t think I’d feel right doing that,” Alma said grudgingly, as though granting a favor. “After all, he is your grandfather.”

      Toothaches were nothing compared to this, Paige thought. “Great. Okay, I’ll keep you posted, but we should be able to get rolling again in about six weeks. In the meantime, we can stay in touch by phone and e-mail and I can have some samples sent to your house.”

      “Don’t forget to give me your cell phone number,” Alma said.

       Not a chance. “Don’t worry, Alma. We’ll still be working together, it’ll just move a little more slowly. Thanks for your understanding.” With a few more pleasantries, Paige disconnected.

      And cursed like a sailor until the air in the room turned blue.

      “Wow, I didn’t know you knew how to talk like that.”

      Paige glanced up to see Delaney in the door, looking at her inquiringly. “Clients,” she said dismissively, pulling off her headset. “The ones I wanted to keep asked to change to avoid the delay. The one I really wanted to get rid of has decided she’ll do me a favor and wait.”

      “Dontcha just hate it?” Delaney asked cheerfully, crossing the room to give her a quick hug. “How’s your granddad?”

      “Better. Still hurting, and he can’t do much for himself, but I think he’s past the scary stage. Thanks for asking. And for keeping an eye on my place while I’m gone. You’re the best.”

      Delaney waved a hand at the sleekly opulent room. “It’s no hardship to hang out here, trust me. So you didn’t hear the rest of Kelly’s announcement the other night.”

      “Oh, God, right, Kelly. So what’s the deal?”

      “She and Kev talked it over and they’ve decided to go ahead and have it. They’re getting married.”

      Paige’s eyes widened. “Little Miss Footloose and Fancy-Free?”

      “They have been living together for a couple of years now. That’s kind of serious.”

      “Yeah, but there’s serious and there’s serious. ” Paige thought for a moment and a slow smile spread over her face. “Kelly with a baby. That means we get to be aunties.” Her eyes widened. “Baby shoes,” she shrieked.

      “Definitely.” Delaney grinned. “The wedding’s in two months.”

      “Kelly and Kev—who would have guessed?”

      “Maybe Kev.”

      “They’re going to make great parents,” Paige said dreamily.

      “You know it. Anyway, we’re cooking up a party for them, so I’ll let you know. Assuming you’ll be here.”

      “I’ll have to play it by ear right now.”

      “Where’s your grandpa today? Did you just leave him on his own with a few crackers and a bottle of Coke within reach?”

      “Oh, he’s got a housekeeper to keep an eye on him. Anyway, I’m just down here for the morning so I can get some stuff together. After that, I head out.” And, galvanized by the thought, she began moving around her office in hyperdrive, gathering things together.

      With a sigh of pleasure, Delaney sank down into her favorite seat—a deeply overstuffed chair in a bronze damask. “So what’s it like there? Are you going stir-crazy?”

      “Not really. It’s kind of nice. I’m getting a chance to spend time with my granddad, which I haven’t in a while, and it feels good to be helping. It’s actually more like being on vacation than anything. Sleeping in, no meetings, just like a little getaway.”

      “You need that. You’ve been running like a mad dog since you went out on your own. You need a chance to catch your breath. How long are you going to be gone?”

      “Haven’t a clue.” Paige slid her laptop into its carrier and added the power cord. “A few weeks, anyway. Maybe more. I want to stick around until I’m sure he’s all set.”

      “I thought you said he wasn’t hurt bad.”

      “Nothing lasting, but he’s not going to be up and driving anytime soon. I want to stay and finish the job. Besides, there’s this whole other thing going on.” She set the laptop case next to a tote bag on the floor.

      “Define whole other thing. ”

      “A zoning issue. My grandfather’s all up in arms about his next-door neighbor wanting to turn her home into a burlesque museum.”

      Kelly gave a startled laugh. “A burlesque museum? Like strippers?”

      “Tamer, I think. More like vaudeville. My granddad’s neighbor was a big star back in the day.”

      “Who?”

      “Gloria Reed.”

      Delaney tapped her feet lightly on the carpet. “The name’s vaguely familiar. I think I might have read an article on her somewhere, maybe.”

      “Under whore of Babylon, if you listen to my grandfather.” Paige unplugged her BlackBerry from its wall charger and headed toward her desk. “Anyway, she wants to start this museum to commemorate burlesque.”

      “Hey, why not? There’s a banjo-picking hall of fame.”

      Paige stopped. “A banjo-picking hall of fame?”

      “Yup.”

      “The world is a stranger place than we know.” She tossed the electronics into her purse.

      “You said it. A burlesque museum, huh? I’m guessing your grandfather is unthrilled.”

      “Try ballistic. He’s dead set on blocking it. If I’m not around to work on it, he will, and that’s the last thing he needs to focus on right now.”

      “Can’t you just go to the city and complain?”

      “I guess. They need a zoning variance to do it at her estate. If they don’t get it, no museum. I don’t know if they’ve applied or not. The grandson says it’s going to happen.”

      “The whore of Babylon’s grandson?” Delaney perked up. “How old?”

      “I don’t know. Midthirties maybe,” Paige guessed.

      “Is he cute?”

       Cute was the last word Paige would ever apply to Zach Reed. Ballsy, arrogant and, probably to some people, liquid-metal-hot, yes. Cute? “He’s annoying.”

      Delaney studied her. “You know, a bunch of really interesting expressions just went over your face,” she observed. “Spill it, Favreau.”

      “There’s nothing to spill.” Paige moved to her bookshelf and started culling catalogs