It Had to Be You (Chicago Stars #1)(66)

“That’s enough, Dan.” Ron turned to Phoebe. “I apologize for the press conference.”

Dan gave a snort of disgust “That’s tellin’ her, Ronald. You sure do know how to crack the old whip.”

Ron seemed not to have heard. “Unfortunately, you can’t continue to snub the press without looking as if you have something to hide.”

“I don’t think there’s much left that everybody hasn’t already seen,” Dan sneered.

Phoebe caught her breath. Ron rose slowly from the table and turned to face the coach. “Your comments are uncalled for. You owe Phoebe an apology.”

Dan’s expression was rigid with anger. “She’s not going to get one.”

“You’re hardly innocent in all this. There were apparently two people in that hotel room. And if you hadn’t lost so many games, we wouldn’t be under attack. Instead of insulting Phoebe, perhaps you should consider doing something about all those turnovers.”

Dan seemed to be having trouble believing what he was hearing. “Are you criticizing my coaching?”

Ron’s Adam’s apple bobbled as he swallowed hard before he spoke. “I believe I’ve made my point. You’re being rude, belligerent, and insulting to Phoebe. Not only is she the owner of this team and your employer, but she is also a person deserving of respect.”

Phoebe didn’t have time to feel grateful for Ron’s gallant defense. She was too alarmed by the vicious lines that had formed on each side of Dan’s mouth. Too late, she remembered that this was a man who had been trained to meet all attacks with fierce counteraggression.

“Now listen here, you little pip-squeak. How I treat Phoebe isn’t any of your business, and you know what you can do with your f*cking etiquette lessons!”

“Stop right there,” Ron warned.

But Dan was running on adrenaline and emotions he had no way to express except through anger. “I’ll stop when I decide to stop! Unless you want to bring down an outhouse full of shit on your head, remember that I’m the one coaching this team. Looks to me like you’ve got more than you can handle just taking care of bimbo control!”

A heavy silence fell over the room.

All the blood drained from Phoebe’s head. She felt sick and humiliated.

Dan’s eyes dropped. His hand moved to his side in an ineffectual, almost helpless, gesture.

“I’m suspending you for one week,” Ron said quietly.

Dan’s head shot up and his lips tightened into a sneer. “You can’t suspend me. I’m the coach, not one of the players.”

“Nevertheless, you’re suspended.”

Alarmed, Phoebe took a quick step forward. “Ron . . .”

He put up his hand and said softly, “Please don’t involve yourself in this, Phoebe. I have a job to do, and I need to do it my own way.”

Dan closed the distance between them, hovering over the general manager in a manner that was so physically menacing Phoebe cringed. He spoke in a low, venomous drawl.

“I’m going to have your ass.”

Ron’s skin had assumed a faint greenish tone, but he kept his voice almost steady. “I want you to leave the building immediately. You’re not to contact any of the other coaches or players until your suspension is up after the game next Sunday.”

“I’ll leave the building when I damn well please!”

“For Phoebe’s sake, please don’t make this any worse.”

Seconds ticked by as Dan regarded him with tight-lipped fury. “You’re going to regret this.”

“I’m sure you’re right. Nevertheless, I have to do what I think is best.”

Dan gave him a long, hard glare and stalked from the room.

Phoebe pressed her hand to her mouth. Ron gave her arm a gentle squeeze.

“The press conference will take place on the practice field at one o’clock. I’ll come to your office to get you.”

“Ron, I really don’t—”

“Excuse me, Phoebe, but I’m afraid I’m going to be sick.”

Releasing her arm, he dashed from the room, while she stared after him in dismay.

Dan’s feet slammed the stair treads as he stormed down to the first floor. When he hit the landing, he drew back his foot and kicked the metal door open. Once he was outside, the bright Indian summer day did nothing to soothe his rage.

As he stalked toward his car, he plotted what he would do next. He was going to snap that little weasel’s neck. Kick his weasel ass inside out. Any kind of suspension was in direct violation of his contract, and his lawyers were going to make mincemeat out of Phoebe and her GM. He didn’t have to take shit like that. He was going to . . . He was going to . . .

He was going to stop acting like an ass.

He braced one hand on the roof of his car and took a deep, unsteady breath. He was embarrassed and furious, not at Phoebe but at himself. How could he have insulted her like that? He’d never in his life treated a woman so badly, not even Valerie. And Phoebe hadn’t deserved it. She made him crazy, but she didn’t have a mean bone in her body. She was funny and sexy and sweet in her own particular way.

He hated losing control like this, but when he’d heard that smug reporter telling the world that Phoebe had been in his hotel room, he’d been so full of rage at the violation of their privacy that he’d wanted to kick in the television screen. He knew enough about the press to realize that Phoebe would end up taking the heat for something that had been his fault. If only he’d talked to her about it instead of insulting her.