Viktor laughed as he plopped the sack of food in Phoebe’s arms. “You must learn when to pay attention to Phoebe and when to ignore her. She is what you Americans call—” He hesitated, searching for the proper phrase. “A fuck-up.”

“Viktor!”

He leaned forward and planted a swift kiss on her forehead. “Tell Coach Calebow you didn’t mean to fire him.”

She batted him away, her pride stung. “I did mean to fire him.”

Viktor clucked his tongue. “The truth now.”

She was going to kill him for this. Holding on to what shreds of dignity she had left, she spoke carefully. “I meant to fire him, but perhaps I shouldn’t have done it. I apologize for my short temper, Mr. Calebow, even though you provoked me. Consider yourself rehired.”

He turned to stare at her. She tried to return his gaze, but the spicy odors of Korean food were stinging her nostrils and making her eyes tear so she knew she wasn’t too impressive.

“The job doesn’t hold much appeal for me anymore,” he said.

Viktor sighed. “There are still things to discuss, I see, and we will do it over food. One hopelessly stubborn person is all I can deal with at a time, Coach Calebow. Won’t you share a meal with us?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Please. For the greater good of football. And the victorious future of the Chicago Stars.”

Dan took his time considering before he gave an abrupt nod. “All right.”

Viktor beamed like a proud father, fluffed Phoebe’s hair, and nudged her toward the kitchen. “Do your woman’s work. We men are hungry.”

Phoebe opened her mouth to tell him off, but then clamped it shut. Not only was Viktor her friend, but he was smart about people, and she had to trust him. She sashayed forward, punishing the football coach by putting an extra swing to a pair of hips he’d never get a chance to touch.

As the men entered the navy and white kitchen behind her, Pooh went berserk, but since the dog concentrated her attention on Viktor instead of the coach, Phoebe didn’t need to go to the rescue.

Ten minutes later the three of them were sitting on slatted white metal cafe chairs at the matching round bistro table that stood at the end of her kitchen. She served the Korean food on glazed white porcelain plates, each of them painted with a stylized royal blue carp that was the same color as the woven place mats. Only the fact that she had left the beer in bottles so Viktor could get his macho fix ruined the blue and white color scheme.

“Pulgogi is the Korean form of barbecue,” Viktor explained, after the men had finished an incomprehensible discussion of the blitz. He picked up another thin strip of sesame-marinated meat with his fork. “Phoebe doesn’t like it, but I’m absolutely addicted. What do you think?”

“I doubt it’s going to put McDonald’s out of business, but it’s not too bad.”