In His Good Hands. Joan Kilby

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СКАЧАТЬ her to agree. When she didn’t, his blue eyes hardened. “My daughter, Tegan, and I.”

      “Oh, I see.”

      “Tegan wishes there were more fashion boutiques in Summerside, but I’m glad she can’t spend all her time shopping.” Brett rolled on, regaining his good humor. “With us practically living on the beach, she’ll be able to learn to sail. Summerside is a good place to grow up, on the fringe between city and country. Well, you would know. You had a great childhood on the farm.”

      There he was, inviting Renita to reminisce again. She wasn’t going to bite. “About the gym…I drive past there regularly. The building looks run-down. I hope it’s going for a good price.”

      “Seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars. That includes all equipment, such as it is. It’s reasonable,” Brett said. “But I’ll need to completely refurbish the place. Exercise machines, flooring, coffee area, child care, change rooms—the works.”

      Finally, they were getting down to business. “Coffee?” Renita asked. “Isn’t that encouraging unhealthy habits?”

      “I gather this used to be a squash club. There’s a small kitchen where players used to wait for a court.” He shrugged. “I’m into fitness, but I’m not a fanatic. If people want coffee, they can have it.”

      “Is the gym currently running at a profit?”

      “A very slim one. The place has been neglected since the owner moved to Sydney last year. His manager quit months ago and hasn’t been replaced. One of the instructors has been in charge, but obviously, she can’t do that justice and teach classes at the same time. Once I take over things will improve.” Brett removed a sheaf of papers from his manila envelope and handed them to Renita. “I’ve worked up a statement of operating costs, revenue and expenses.”

      She scanned the detailed spreadsheets. “You’ve certainly done your homework.”

      “And this time without your assistance.”

      She glanced up. He was watching her with that half smile that used to turn her knees to jelly. The pages rattled faintly in her hands. “Let’s hope you’re better at math than you used to be.”

      Renita ducked her head and studied the figures. She still found Brett physically attractive; a woman would have to be blind not to. But she was over him.

      She was aware of him shifting in his chair. He never could sit still for long. Then he stood up. Right, there he goes. He paced around the room, looking at the art on the walls, picking up objects. She tried to concentrate on the columns of figures, but couldn’t help peeking at him out of the corner of her eye.

      Those long legs, broad shoulders…

      He examined the bowl of flowering succulents she kept on the credenza beneath the window. Then he lifted the framed photo of Frankie and Johnny, her pet cockatoo and her cat. Next to that was a picture of Lucy, her golden retriever. Brett glanced back at the nameplate on her desk, which bore her maiden name. She knew what he was thinking. Single woman. Her pets are her kids.

      “Did you ever marry?” he asked, confirming her thought.

      Hello! She was only thirty-two. Maybe she didn’t want to marry. Or maybe she’d kept her own name. She was a career woman, after all. “I’m too busy for a serious relationship.”

      “You always were smarter than the rest of us.” Setting the photo down, he leaned against the credenza, arms loosely crossed. “Tegan begged me for a cockatiel, but I don’t like to keep birds in cages.”

      “I have an aviary—” Renita began, then stopped before she went into a full explanation of how she’d found Frankie as a fledgling with a badly broken wing, and how the vet had said the cockatoo would never fly again. Brett still had a knack for distracting her far too easily.

      Clearing her throat, she returned her attention to his business proposal. It appeared straightforward except for one unlabeled column. “Brett, take a look at this set of figures. Are they incoming or outgoing?”

      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.

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