In His Good Hands (2 page)

His lanky stride brought him to her desk. “Which column?”

She started to turn the paper toward him, but he moved behind her and leaned over her shoulder, one hand planted on her desk. The heat from his body, the faint scent of aftershave, the long fingers—more distractions. “Uh, that one.” She pointed with a manicured nail.

“Right. Okay. That’s, um…” He sucked in a breath, clicked his tongue. “Incoming.”

“You’re sure?” She glanced at him, pushing her glasses farther up her nose. “Because if it’s outgoing you may not have even a slim profit.”

“I’m sure.” He rapped his knuckles on the paper before drawing back. “Incoming. Definitely.”

“Okay,” she said dubiously, watching him pace back across the room, flexing the fingers of his right hand. She knew that body language; he used to do that when he was nervous before a test at school, when he wasn’t certain of his command of the material.

Hmm.

“Okay,
this
is outgoing. Three hundred thousand dollars for refurbishment?” she queried. “That kind of money would buy a lot of paint and carpeting.”

“It’s for replacing the exercise equipment. Stationary bicycles, treadmills, weight machines—all of it has to go.”

“What is that figure based on? I didn’t see any costings.”

“I didn’t have time. It’s more like a guesstimate.”

“A guesstimate?” she repeated, one eyebrow raised.

“Hey.” Smiling, he spread his hands. “Math never was my strong suit.”

“You can do better than this.”

Even in high school he’d been a big spender, she recalled, financing his nice clothes and fancy car with two part-time jobs. His days in pro football would have made him even more accustomed to having the finest of everything the instant he wanted it. Which was odd, considering he’d come from nothing. His father had been a laborer, his mother an invalid, unable to work. The family had lived in an old cottage on the poorer side of town. His parents still lived there, as far as Renita knew. She was pretty sure his two brothers lived in the area, too.

A few minutes later, she sat back, tapping her pen on the blotter. “You’re asking to borrow a total of over a million dollars. That would mean large monthly repayments. It doesn’t look to me as if the gym’s earnings can cover a mortgage plus the interest on a loan for refurbishment.”

“Membership will increase once I spruce up the place.”

“Nothing is taken for granted these days. The Community Bank is careful not to let clients get in too deep. Can you put any of your own money into the pot?”

“If I had any, I wouldn’t be asking for a loan,” Brett said with disarming honesty.

“You don’t have savings after thirteen years playing professional football?” Australian Rules footballers didn’t make millions, but he’d probably earned a couple grand a year.

“My savings are tied up in a dispute over the divorce settlement,” he said. “Once that’s resolved I can sink my own money into the business to cut costs. What I’m asking for is more in the nature of a bridging loan.”

There was a dispute over the divorce? That hadn’t made the papers. Was his ex-wife asking for too much or was he offering too little? This could drag out for years.

“Until your divorce is settled, the amount of money you can contribute is uncertain. It can’t have any bearing on my decision.” Renita tapped her pen on the folder. “You say you’re managing the gym. Do you have any other business experience?”

“None whatsoever,” he admitted. “My name will be a draw card. But I won’t be resting on my laurels. I plan to offer state-of-the-art equipment, personal training and fitness classes to cater to everyone. My gym will be small and friendly, with a focus on personal attention. The kind of place where the fitness instructors know the name of every member. Open to whole families, from kids in primary school right up to their grannies.”

It sounded good, but at the moment it was still just a pipe dream. “Your name won’t be a draw unless you’re a visible presence. Will you be hands-on in the running of the business?”

“Absolutely. I’ll be there every day, managing the place and giving personal training sessions.”

“That’s a big time commitment. If you’re not used to—”

“I want to do this, Renita.” He jumped up and started pacing again. “I
can
do it.” He slapped a fist in his palm. “Goddamn it, I
will
do it.”

Renita glanced down at the pen between her fingers so as not to be dazzled by his blue eyes. His grit and determination had taken him to glory on the football field. And there was no doubting his sincerity about the gym. Her decisions were based strictly on bank guidelines. She had to be tough. Otherwise, in a small community like Summerside, where she knew almost everyone, she’d be giving away the bank’s money right and left.

On the other hand, while Brett’s figures were sketchy, it was the only gym in town. And while he lacked management experience, if anyone could turn the business around through sheer willpower, that person was Brett O’Connor.

She glanced up. “Okay, you’re in. Barely.”

Relief washed over his face. “So you’ll approve the loan?”

“I’ll authorize the release of funds for you to buy the gym.” She punched a few figures into her calculator. “Eight hundred and sixty thousand will cover purchase price plus taxes.”

“Excellent. And the new equipment, the refurbishment?”

“I’m sorry. The mortgage is the limit of what the bank will lend you. You haven’t provided solid justification for the finances necessary for refurbishment.”

“The justification is that members are quitting because the facilities are old and run-down.” Frowning, he sat again. “What if I were to cost it all out, itemize every piece of new equipment?”

“I’d be willing to look at it,” Renita conceded reluctantly. “But no guarantees, you understand.”

His mouth flattened and his nostrils flared as he exhaled forcefully. “You’re the boss.”

Yes, she was.
Renita rose and extended a hand, remembering to suck in her stomach. “I hope your gym will be a huge success.”

Brett rose, too, squeezing her hand briefly. He couldn’t hide his disappointment. “You’ll be hearing from me again soon.”

The instant the door closed behind him Renita undid the buttons of her suit jacket. With a sigh of relief she let her stomach relax. She’d survived their meeting without making a fool of herself. Sure, Brett was dissatisfied with the outcome, but he could hardly expect her to hand him everything he wanted on a plate.

She reached into her drawer for the jar of jelly beans. There was absolutely no reason for her to feel bad.

She and Mark, the other fitness instructor, were between classes. They’d already been working here when he’d come on board, and he’d established a rapport with them almost instantly. As he’d explained to Renita, Janet had been juggling managerial duties with her fitness classes. Once Brett had been hired, she’d been more than happy to hand over the reins.

“Talk in a minute.” He tossed the manila envelope over the counter toward the desk, but it skidded off and landed on the floor. He kept going, stripping off his jacket without breaking stride.

“Hey, Dad.” Tegan brushed back her long, honey-blond hair to wave at him. Her homework was spread over a table in the refreshment area. “Can you help me with geography?”

“Be right back.” He took the stairs to the second floor two at a time.

Thank God the men’s changing room was empty. The stale odor of sweaty bodies and cleaning products hit Brett’s nostrils as the door squeaked open. He flung himself onto a bench and dropped his head in his hands.

Half a loan.

How could he have screwed up on those columns of figures? More to the point, how could he have thought he’d get away with a guesstimate? The answer was simple. Working out the equipment costs had seemed too onerous after everything else he’d done. And if he was honest, he’d thought he could be less rigorous with Renita.

Numbers—they did his head in. He should have asked his brother Tom, a financial analyst with a big firm in the city, for help. Or even gone to an accountant who would have worked up a proper business plan. But Brett had figured that if he was going to run a successful business he ought to know all the ins and outs of the gym’s finances. He’d wanted to prove, to himself if no one else, that he wasn’t just a dumb jock.

Instead, today he’d confirmed he was no smarter than he’d been in high school.

Renita had always believed in him back then. He felt as if he’d let her down today. Was that why she’d been so reserved, deflecting his attempts to reconnect? What had happened to his funny little buddy? True, they’d lost touch, but at one time they’d been friends. Well, not friends exactly, but they’d known each other. He’d
liked
her, even if they didn’t travel in the same circles.

Okay, his comment that she looked fabulous was an exaggeration—she was still overweight. But most women lapped up compliments, especially ones like Renita who probably didn’t get many. Why the hell had she taken offense when he’d told her she looked real? That, at least, was true.

“Brett?” Janet banged on the change room door. “Get your butt out here and tell us what’s going on, or I’ll come in there and haul you out.”

“I’m putting on my jockstrap. Want to help?” he called.

“Ooh, yes, please!” Happily married, middle-aged Janet chuckled. A moment later he heard her descending the stairs.

Time to man up. He kicked off his leather loafers and stripped off his shirt and jeans, hanging them up in a locker. He pulled on a navy polo shirt and shorts and went back downstairs.

Stopping at Tegan’s table, he dropped a kiss on her forehead. She was wearing too much makeup and her nail polish was a baffling black. Was she really thirteen already? “How’s the homework going?”

“Algebra sucks. And I’ve got this geography assignment.” She looked up at him with big eyes. “Can you help me?”

“Sorry, sweetheart, I’m busy with gym stuff right now,” he said, pushing aside a stab of guilt. “I’ve got paperwork to sort out and phone calls to make. Then a personal training session at six.”

Tegan sighed heavily and slumped in her chair. “You’re
always
too busy with this stupid gym.”

“You need to pack up your books, anyway,” he added, squeezing her shoulder. “I’ll have a quick word with Janet and Mark. Then I’ll take you to Grandma and Grandpa’s.”

Janet was waiting as he approached the reception desk. Though barely five feet tall, she had a muscular build. In her late forties, she could outlast and outpump most of her younger colleagues.

Under her scrutiny, he forced a smile.

Janet gave Mark a high five. “He got the loan.”

“Awesome.” Mark, an easygoing twenty-five-year-old who towered over Janet, slapped her hand. “That means we’ve still got a job.”

“Unless Brett’s going upmarket with the help, too.” Janet raised an eyebrow at Brett. “Are you going to hire flash new instructors for your fancy gym?”

“I need you guys more than ever,” he replied. “Just don’t ask me for a raise right away.”

“We’ll wait at least a week. Did you get everything you asked for?”

“Pretty much.” Brett accepted their congratulations and pats on the back. He wasn’t going to talk about what he
didn’t
get. Losers were weak. And he wasn’t a loser. “Give me a second while I call the real estate agent and tell him to go ahead with the paperwork.”

He excused himself and went into the cramped inner office to make his call. His offer had already been accepted subject to approval on the financing. The owner, Grant Springer, was just as keen as Brett for the hand over of ownership to take place, and they’d agreed on a thirty-day settlement. It was all happening.

By the time Brett finished the call, Mark had left to teach a pump class and Janet was laminating photocopies of floor exercises for group fitness.

“Almost as good as winning the footy grand final, huh?” she asked over the quiet hum of the machine. Beaming, she nudged him with her elbow.

“Almost,” he replied uncomfortably, with a half smile.

She removed a freshly laminated copy. “Was the loans officer impressed with your business plan?”

“She was in awe.” Brett was careful to temper his sarcasm.

Janet grabbed the catalog of exercise equipment Brett had been poring over earlier like a kid with a Christmas toy flyer. “Let’s start picking out your new goodies.”

“Uh, I’ll get to that later.”

She regarded him with a frown. “Is everything okay? Yesterday we couldn’t tear you away from this brochure.”

“Everything’s fine. I just have to drop Tegan off at my parents’ house for dinner.” He reached for his keys and called over his shoulder, “Are you ready, Tegan?”

“Coming.” She ambled toward him, the straps of her unbuckled shoes flapping, her school bag slung over her shoulder.

Brett turned back to Janet. “If my six o’clock arrives before I get back, have her warm up on the treadmill. I won’t be long.”

In his silver E320 Mercedes, Brett cruised down the leafy main street of the village. Tegan chatted about school. Now and then he murmured “yes” or “uh-huh.”

“Cool!” Tegan said after one such response. “Thanks, Dad!”

“You’re welcome, sweetheart,” he replied automatically, then sent her a swift glance. “What did I just say yes to?”

Her eyes widened, all innocence. “Me getting a new dress for the dance.”

“You’ve got dozens of dresses in your closet. Why don’t you wear one of those? It’s not like anyone in Summerside will have seen them before.”

“I only have two party dresses and I’ve grown out of both of them. Besides, I’m
older
now.”

He swiveled to look at her, noticing her developing figure and the way, sitting side by side, her head now reached his shoulder. “I guess you’re right.”

The older the girl, the more expensive the dress. He’d learned
that
during his marriage.

Slowing to a halt for the single stoplight in town, he spied the Community Bank on the corner and frowned. Charm had always been his biggest asset, but it hadn’t worked with Renita. His efforts to renew their friendship had fallen flat. If that’s the way she wanted it, he would stick to business in the future. But he needed his loans manager to be onside to make the gym a success.

His eye fell on a poster erected on the grass verge, advertising the Diabetes Week Fun Run. Renita had been touchy about her father’s condition. She was likely worried and feeling helpless, wishing she could do something to fix the problem.

“That’s it,” Brett muttered. “Two birds with one stone.”

He got out his phone and punched in her number at the bank. Her office was the last one on the end, he realized.

“Renita Thatcher.” She sounded preoccupied.

“I just wanted to let you know about a special deal the gym is offering,” he said, making it up on the spot.

“Brett? Is that you?”

“Two-for-one memberships. I’ll throw in five free personal training sessions if you sign up before the end of the week,” he added recklessly. She’d
said
she wasn’t into exercise, but when people caught the bug they usually came to love the feel-good high of being fit.

“And you think I’m interested because…?”

“Your father is diabetic. I’ll bet his doctor has told him to exercise. Does he already belong to a gym in Mornington or Frankston?”

“No,” she said. “But he walks his dog, Smedley.”

“You and Steve can get fit together. You’ve got six weeks before the Fun Run—”

“No, no, no,” Renita protested. “I told you, I’m not entering the run.”

Undeterred, Brett pushed on. “Your dad would be more likely to work out if he had a partner to encourage him, wouldn’t he?”

“Brett—” She broke off.

In the silence that followed he could feel her frustration. He thought he understood her reluctance. “Having a personal trainer, you won’t have to keep up with all the gym bunnies in a class,” he said. “You work at your own pace, with a program tailored to your needs.”

“Pushing a little hard, aren’t you, Dad?” Tegan murmured from the passenger seat.

Brett motioned to his daughter to be quiet. There was another long pause.
Had
he pushed too hard? Embarrassed Renita? He didn’t want to do that.

“It would be good for Dad,” she conceded finally. “I’ll think about it.”

Satisfied, Brett put down his phone and moved through the green light. “She said she’d think about it,” he said to Tegan. But she was really saying yes.