In His Good Hands. Joan Kilby

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.

      CHAPTER TWO

      FRICKIN’ BANKS and their frickin’ restrictions. Brett pushed through the double glass doors to the gym. What the hell was he going to do with this shabby old place if he couldn’t refurbish it? And what was up with Renita? She never used to be so prickly and standoffish.

      “Did you get the loan?” Janet called as he strode through the foyer past the reception desk.

      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