The gavel fell.

Seriously? It’d been more than long enough since that had happened and he was bringing it up now? Damn it. “It wasn’t much of an argument. I was upset with him and I let him know that he had acted inappropriately, that’s all.”

“That’s interesting.” He fidgeted and moved to rest his arms on the sides of his chair. “I was told you called him a bratwurst, I believe.”

I don’t think I’d ever wanted to smile more, but I managed not to. I had no business lying to him. I’d said what I said and I wasn’t going to take it back. “Yes.”

“Do you think that’s appropriate language to use on the staff?” he asked.

“I think it’s appropriate when someone decides to be ungracious with his supporters.”

“You do understand how important his involvement with the team is?” The jackass was giving me this look that said exactly how stupid he thought I was, and I could feel anger bubbling up in my gut, leaving a sour taste in my mouth.

“I completely understand, Mr. Cordero, but I also understand how important it is to have the support of our fans. The WPL expects a lot from their players, don’t they? Some of us live with host families; we depend on word of mouth from the people that come to our games. Coach Kulti wasn’t very gracious, and all I did was let him know without using bad words or body language. I didn’t disrespect him.” Well, I didn’t disrespect him that much.

For as long as I’d known him, the team’s general manager was the type of person who wanted things done his way when he said he wanted them done. He didn’t like back-talk and he always insisted he was right.

He wasn’t.

So I knew that this conversation was going down the drain fast, and I wasn’t about to back down from it, as much as my common sense begged me to. I hadn’t done anything wrong and if I could go back in time, I would do the exact same thing again.

“Miss Casillas, I would be careful with what you believe to be right or wrong; are we on the same page?”

This fucker.

“The Pipers are a team, and this isn’t the first time you haven’t been on board with doing what’s best for the whole.”

Was he ever going to drop it? Each time I’d been in his office, except for this once, it had always been for the same damn thing. Let us tell everyone. And every time I had told him the same thing: No—I’m not involving my family. He had yet to forgive me for it and from how it seemed, he never would.

“I want you to apologize,” he continued, ignoring the look of death I was giving him.

“There’s nothing for me apologize for,” I told him in a calm steady voice.

He leaned forward and hit a button on his phone. “I beg to differ… Mrs. Brokawski? We’re ready.”

We’re ready? For what?

My silent question was answered a minute later when the office door swung open and a beaming Mrs. Brokawski stepped in, holding it open for none other than the bratwurst we’d been talking about. Kulti entered, his expression that cool remote one, his eyes going from me on the chair to Mr. Cordero standing up.

“Come in, Coach.” The general manager looked like a different man, smiling and jovial. The freaking rat. “Take a seat. You know Miss Casillas.”

I didn’t even bother forcing or faking a smile on my face; I just looked at him. I realized that he more than likely had nothing to do with this conversation, but I was too frustrated to forgive him for coming into the office at the wrong time.

The German took the chair next to mine, sitting upright and stiff. He was still in the same clothes he’d had on at the game.