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She rose from her chair. "No press conference, Ron. I told you from the beginning that I won't do interviews."

Dan's lips twisted. "If you give her permission to strip first, I bet she'll do it."

"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 fucking 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."

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