Читать книгу In His Good Hands - Joan Kilby - Страница 8

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 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.

“I’M MISSING THE cricket match on TV,” Steve grumbled as Renita dragged him through the doors of the fitness center.

“This won’t take long.” She hoped not, at least. Gyms were alien territory, bristling with strange machines and hard bodies. And spandex. Oh, God, she could just imagine what she would look like with every blubbery bulge outlined by spandex.

But she had to admit Brett was right—her father needed a concrete goal in his quest to improve his health. “If the place looks good you can become a member and sign up for the Fun Run.”

Steve balked on the black mat just inside the foyer, blinking at the bright lights and loud music. “I’m no runner.”

“You don’t want another hospital episode.”

“I don’t want a stroke, either.” His slacks sagged at the back and his shirt buttons strained over his barrel-shaped belly. Behind his steel-framed glasses, his brown eyes revealed his reluctance.

“That’s why you’re going to get fit before the event,” Renita coaxed. “When I was a kid, who told me I could do anything I set my mind to? Now I’m telling you you can do it. I know you can.”

“There’s no one here,” Steve said, glancing at the reception desk, with its scuffed lime-green paint. “Let’s go.”

“Shh, listen.” Renita could hear Brett talking on the phone in an office behind the desk. “Let’s wait a minute.”

The faint odors of perspiration and rubber floor mats conjured up the discomfort and small humiliations of high school gym class. Chafing thighs, sweaty clothes, being picked last for every team…

Renita moved farther into the building, taking in the gym’s poor state of repair. Paint was chipped on the corners of the pillars, the linoleum flooring was worn, and Out of Order signs hung from several of the exercise machines. Brett would have his work cut out for him, turning the facility into the fitness center of his dreams.

“This is a dive,” Steve muttered, echoing her thoughts. “Why’d you bring me here?”

“Because my bank is lending money to the new owner.” Knowing her dad kept a keen eye out for a bargain, she added cannily, “Plus there’s a sale on memberships.”

“I get enough exercise walking Smedley.” Steve removed his glasses and polished them on the hem of his shirt, drawing Renita’s attention to his round stomach.

“You’ve been walking for weeks now and haven’t lost an inch off that gut of yours,” Renita said. “That trip to the hospital was a wake-up call. You need to change your habits.”

In the multipurpose exercise room to their left a female fitness instructor was barking out encouragement to a perspiring middle-aged man doing sumo squats. “See, Dad, that could be you.”

“In that case, let me outta here. If we leave now I can still catch the last of the cricket.” He spun and headed for the exit, surprisingly nimble despite his bulk.

Renita grabbed his arm. “Oh, no, you don’t.”

“Can I help you?” Brett, wearing a navy polo shirt sporting the gym’s logo, emerged from the office. “Hey, Renita. G’day, Mr. Thatcher. Steve, isn’t it? Nice to see you again.”

“Brett O’Connor?” Steve turned to Renita with a frown. “You didn’t tell me this was Brett’s gym.”

“Didn’t I?” She deliberately hadn’t mentioned Brett by name, worried that it would deter Steve, even though he was a rabid footy fan and a supporter of Brett’s old team, the Collingwood Magpies.

“Welcome to the gym.” Brett extended a hand to Steve, nodding to Renita. “I’m pleased you’re taking me up on the two-for-one gym membership.”

“Dad’s interested, not me.” She stepped back and nudged her father forward.

He threw her a startled glance. “But you said—”

“I said I might.” Okay, so she’d fibbed a little to get him to come. It was for his own good. While she was happy to persuade her dad to sign up, it didn’t mean she was going to join. Sure, she needed to lose weight, but she had no desire to sweat and puff, especially around Brett.

“I’m not joining unless you do,” he protested.

“Do you follow football, Steve?” Brett said casually, leaning against the counter.

“Of course.” Almost grudgingly, he asked, “How do you like Collingwood’s chances for the cup this year?”

Brett rattled off a bunch of football statistics and tossed around names, drawing Steve deeper into conversation. Renita’s dad bought it hook, line and sinker, even reciting Brett’s own stats to him. As if the conceited ass didn’t recall every goal he’d kicked. If her father still harbored a grudge for the sporting hero, he wasn’t showing it.

“Which was your high point?” Steve asked. “The year your team won the Grand Final or when you were awarded the Brownlow Medal?”

“I ought to say the Grand Final, but if I’m honest, it was winning the Brownlow.”

“I don’t blame you. Top honor,” Steve said gruffly. “How’s that knee of yours?”

“I had surgery on it last year. It’s fine unless I work it too hard.” Brett took a clipboard from the counter and passed it to him, along with a pen. “If you’d like to write down your name and contact details we can send you more information. No obligation, of course. What type of membership would suit you best—yearly, monthly or a ten-visit pass?”

Steve scribbled his name and phone number. “What’s the best deal?”

“Yearly,” Brett said. “But if you take out a trial three-month membership, and later want to convert to annual, we’ll do a pro rata.”

“The three-month trial sounds good.” Steve handed back the clipboard.

Brett tried to pass it on to Renita. “We have a two-for-one special, remember?”

“I told you, working out isn’t my thing.”

“Come on, Renita,” Steve urged. “We could split the cost.”

“Yeah, come on, Renita,” Brett echoed, a twinkle in his eyes.

How dare he tease her? Those days are over, pal.

“How about a tour of the facilities?” she replied. “I’d like to see what the bank is investing its money in.”

He gazed at her for a beat. “All right.”

He led them across to the cardio room, where stepping and rowing machines, elliptical trainers, reclining bicycles and treadmills stood empty. Brett flicked one of the Out of Order signs. “I plan on replacing all these machines as soon as I can get the financing.”

“That sounds good, doesn’t it, Renita?” Steve said.

“Sounds expensive.”

Next to cardio were glass-fronted squash courts, also not in use. Across the way was the multipurpose room. “That’s Janet, one of our fitness instructors, giving a personal training session.”

Brett moved into the weight-training room. Two men were working with free weights while a woman sweated it out on a machine. “All these will be replaced, too. Tea and coffee over there,” he went on, indicating three small tables with seating for about twelve. “I plan to put in a cappuccino machine.”

“It does appeal,” Renita murmured.

“Plus fresh carrot juice for a healthy alternative,” Brett added. He started up the central flight of stairs, toward the source of loud music and thumping feet. “Here on the second floor we have the aerobics room. We’ll add to the range of classes as demand grows, so there’ll be something to suit everyone.”

Renita followed, leaving Steve breathing hard, to bring up the rear. The door to the aerobics room was shut, so she looked over a half wall into the far squash court, which had been turned into a spin class room.

“I’ll be replacing all those bikes, too. And putting a new office in over here,” he added, drawing her attention to an unused space beneath a window at the front of the building.

He had confidence to burn, she’d give him that.

Steve made it to the top of the stairs and slumped onto a padded exercise bench.

“You okay, Dad?” Renita asked. He nodded, blotting his forehead with the back of his hand. She turned to Brett. “He would have to take it easy to start.”

“We tailor training to the individual. There’s also a low impact seniors class.” Brett glanced back at her. “There’s plenty for the younger crowd, too. Sure you don’t want to join?”

“She’ll join.” Steve leaned forward, elbows on his knees, trying to catch his breath.

“No, Dad, I…” Renita stopped, not wanting to argue with her father in public.

“I’ll be downstairs if you two want a moment.” Brett ran down the steps, leaving them alone.

She sat beside her father on the bench.

“Renita, honey, you were right. I’ve been fooling myself that walking is enough. Climbing up those stairs just now…” Steve wiped more beads of perspiration from his forehead. “I need more exercise. But I don’t want to do it alone.”

“The last time I worked out was in high school, and that was under duress,” she argued. “A gym is my worst nightmare. Maybe I could do the Fun Run with you. We could walk if we had to.”

“Ten miles is a long way for us couch potatoes, even walking.” He peered at her from behind his half-fogged glasses.

Renita dropped her gaze. Her mum was busy with her yoga classes and meditation. Jack—her brother—had his hands full running the local Men’s Shed volunteer group and manufacturing the GPS he’d invented for small aircraft. Her sister—well, Lexie was an artist, so absorbed in her portrait painting that she could barely manage her own life. It would have to be up to Renita to help their father.

And what about her own health? If she didn’t start moving, she’d just get fatter and fatter, to the point where she’d have real problems like her dad. Was that the future this brainiac was creating for herself?

“Okay, we’ll do it together.” She gave him a hug, and his arms tightened around her, his jaw raspy against her cheek. “Let’s go tell Mr. Superstar.”

Downstairs, they found Brett putting away free weights in the exercise room.

“We’d both like to join,” Renita said. “And have the two-for-one deal with a personal trainer.”

“Excellent.” Brett hefted a pair of twenty-five-pound dumbbells as if they were feathers, and placed them in the rack. “I’ll take you both on myself, if you’re game.”

Lifting her chin, Renita said, “Bring it on.”

BRETT LOADED FATHER AND daughter up with timetables, newsletters and receipts. He made arrangements for Renita to bring Steve to his first training session the next morning.

“I’ll see you for yours Friday afternoon,” he told her, holding the door open for them as they went out.

“Way to go, boss.” Janet congratulated him when she returned to the reception desk after her session was over. “Two new members.”

“It was touch and go there for a while.” Brett pulled up a window on the computer screen and started to enter their details.

“I saw you work your magic. Never a moment of doubt.” Janet slanted him a quizzical glance. “Who’s the woman?”

“Renita Thatcher. She’s the loans manager at the bank. I knew her in high school.”

“I thought I caught an undercurrent,” Janet said. “Were you two an item?”

“God, no,” Brett said, saving the page. “She tutored me in math.”

Half a dozen women from the aerobics class drifted down the stairs, chatting and laughing. On the way out, the single ones all sent flirtatious glances at Brett. He was friendly, but ignored the unspoken invitations. The small number of people in the class was a worry. There should have been twenty, at least.

“You could have your pick of that bunch,” Janet observed when the door shut behind the last one.

“I don’t date clients.” He began to shut down the computer.

“Probably wise.” Janet pulled out the equipment brochure again. “These machines are really expensive,” she said, flipping through the pages. “You could get better deals buying used ones through the internet.”

Now was the time to mention that his loan wouldn’t even cover cheap used equipment. But Brett found he just…couldn’t.

“I wouldn’t waste my time. These babies are top of the line,” he said, reaching for the brochure. “It’s time I started making a list and checking it twice.”

He wanted the best equipment money could buy. He’d find that money, somehow. He’d never gotten anywhere in life by being cautious.