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.
“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