In the Friend Zone (Mile High Stallions #2)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

EMILY

Nothing screamed victory quite like lukewarm champagne served in a heavy-bottomed flute by my amazing assistant, Dallas.

Of course, she used real glass stemware for this moment.

She was the best at what she did. It wasn’t her fault that I waited so long that the room-temperature sting of it clung to the back of my throat like brut and sour guilt.

Wasn’t her fault that I’d done exactly what I was paid to do.

I’d stood in that courtroom and made the jury believe a lie wrapped in legalese.

Well done, counselor. You’re officially complicit.

Around me, the law firm buzzed. Handshakes passed across the threshold of my corner office, along with a few gleeful fist pumps and way-too-familiar shoulder squeezes.

I’d barely had time to close the folder on the Owens & Gold fraud case before the congratulatory parade filed in.

“Cutthroat brilliance,” Douglas, the managing partner, raised his glass to me like it held something worth drinking. He was thrilled, of course.

Our probably corrupt client would now walk away clean, shielded by precedent, redirected blame, and some creative interpretation of internal email chains.

“Truly next-level stuff, Em,” Douglas added, grinning like we’d outmaneuvered a Bond villain instead of steamrolled three whistleblowers and a mountain of shredded ethics.

Paralegals and partners filtered out one by one, already pivoting toward the firm’s main conference room.

They were probably trying to figure out how to capitalize on today’s miracle acquittal.

As soon as the door clicked shut behind them, I set the champagne down on the corner of my pristine desk.

Barely touched. What was wrong with me?

Six figures of student debt, and I couldn’t even make myself finish a free glass of bubbly.

For a moment, I considered chucking the whole glass at the wall.

But broken glass meant cleanup.

And I’d already cleaned up today.

I pulled out my phone and texted Finn.

Emily: won the case

And everyone’s celebrating like we cured cancer instead of helping another scumbag dodge justice.

Finn’s reply came quickly:

Finn: Em strikes again. Douglas is over the moon?

Emily: basically proposed

Finn: I call maid of honor

I parked myself on the edge of my desk and stared at the view. The thirtieth-floor windows looked out over downtown Denver like it all belonged to me.

It didn’t.

I wasn’t sure anything did. Not outside these walls.

I reached toward the champagne glass but stopped.

On paper, I’d won.

No, not won. I’d dominated.

Partner by thirty. One of the highest win rates in the firm. My name routinely printed beside words like “shark” and “closer” in quarterly newsletters. I had the shoes. The suits. The skyline. The clink of champagne after yet another so-called victory.

But somewhere under all of that, a splinter of truth dug deeper with every “congratulations.”

I’d won. I always won.

I wasn’t just playing on the wrong team. I was their MVP.

My phone lit up with the word Mom as I reached for the uneaten corner of a stress muffin. I didn’t answer it. I wasn’t that brave.

But I listened to the voicemail the second it buzzed through.

“I heard about your big win. Look at all your hard work paying off,” she chirped, like a cheery law school recruitment poster.

Mom had built her whole gospel around one word: freedom. The walk-out-the-door kind, earned through degrees and paychecks and never needing anyone’s permission to leave. She’d stayed too long in a marriage that suffocated her. I was meant to be the lesson she learned.

I’d made every right turn and still wound up stuck in hot summer traffic with someone else’s dreams melting all over my upholstery.

And none of it mattered anyway. Not if I wanted out.

Because Douglas’s one non-negotiable had been the non-compete clause tucked into every partner agreement at Rydell, Marks & Stone.

You leave, you don’t practice law in Colorado.

Not for two years. Period. I hadn’t even flinched when I signed it. Hadn’t thought I’d want to leave.

Now what should’ve been a standard clause felt a lot more like a leash.

Finn: Get ur 2 the bar. I’m playin 2nite. wings > justice

I laughed before I remembered I was still in a mood.

Of course, Finn would send that. Him and his everything’s-a-joke grins. Him and his uncanny timing. Him and those stupidly broad shoulders that looked even better under shoulder pads on a Jumbotron. Which I have absolutely noticed. Have noticed noticed, when I’m being honest with myself.

And in that honesty, I recognized that I didn’t really want to be alone tonight.

But the math wasn’t great: Finn was playing, my bestie Angela was in Boston, my other bestie Maya was on tour, my mom would only want to talk about my career, and my brother—Elliott—was in Florida.

I looked at his contact for a second anyway. He had meetings. He always had meetings. But I typed.

Emily: won the Owens case

Elliott: Course you did. Big celebration?

Emily: the kind where Douglas toasted my moral flexibility and meant it as a compliment

Three thinking dots. Then:

Elliott: Eat something. Not a salad

Emily: wings at Mike’s

Elliott: Live it up

That was it. No follow-up. No lengthy older brother debrief or unsolicited career assessment. Just live it up, which from Elliott meant: Enjoy the win.

He was efficient with comfort. That was for sure.

But he was also in Florida, which meant I was still on my own to watch the game.

“Heading to Mike’s on the Corner,” I told Dallas, not looking up from my bag. That was the actual name of the sports bar where Finn and I watched all kinds of games at. Funny though, Mike’s wasn’t actually on the corner of anything.

Dallas paused in the doorway, tablet in hand.

“Football tonight,” I continued. “I get to have some me time. I should want that, right? That should be a good thing?”

“I’m meeting some of the other staff at Applebee’s,” she said, “but I could move it. If that would be, you know. Useful.”

Useful.

And an opportunity not to be all alone.

“Sure,” I said. “Up to you.”

She lit up.

“Yes. I mean, yes. Mike’s is perfect.”

“Perfect,” I agreed.

Honestly, outside of her resume and her uncanny ability to be one step ahead of me, I knew nothing about Dallas. Tonight seemed like a reasonable opportunity to fix that.

That was the reason. Obviously.

I sent a reply to Finn.

Emily: I’ll be watchin @ Mike’s. Win big.

I hit send, wrapped up a whole lot of email, grabbed my bag, tossed the muffin corpse into the trash, and headed out.

The elevator doors opened and spat me out right into the parking garage where my car sat in its designated space, sleek and expensive like everything else in my life.

I slid inside, the leather seat cool against my back, and exhaled for the count of four.

Just me and German engineering and the hollow victory that somehow felt worse than losing.

I sat there longer than I needed to.

Dallas: Ready when u are. Grabbed the spot right up front.

The drive to Mike’s was ten minutes. Enough to shed a layer or two of courtroom tension still clinging to me. Once I stepped inside, it smelled like fryer grease and floor cleaner. With a dash of the kind of hope that came with fourth-quarter miracles and extra cheese for a buck fifty.

My heels clicked against the sticky floor. Yes, I was still very much in court-dragon mode, all sharp lines and a blazer that cost more than I made during my entire first internship.

Hair combed. Lip gloss reapplied. I was practically a walking deposition.

Inside, the pre-game was already on. Three screens blared slightly out of sync, like they couldn’t agree on anything.

I spotted Dallas at a high-top near the dartboard, waving wildly like I’d returned from war. It was only the office, but it may as well have been Normandy with the amount of carnage left behind today.

“Boss,” she grinned, all flushed cheeks. “You came. I was wondering if you might bail.”

“Don’t sound that surprised. I’m fun. I can be fun.” I slid onto the stool beside her, tugging at my hem. “Where’s everyone else?”

Dallas itched at her neckline. “Yeah, they’re kind of scared of you.”

Oh. Oh damn.

“I ruined your whole night. I’m so sorry.” I turned to the door. “I can—”

She snorted and lifted her glass. “Their loss. Fun Boss has good taste in bars, and I like this place, so we’re gonna stay.

My boyfriend about lost his mind when he heard I was coming here with you.

” She leaned in like that was classified information.

“You know Finn Taylor personally, and he’s a huge fan. ”

I blinked. Smiled. “Your boyfriend is a Stallions fan?”

“We’re in Denver, right? I mean, everyone is required to be die-hard,” she said. “But Micah? He goes extra. We’re talking merch, fantasy league.” She leaned in closer. “One time he cried because they cut a backup cornerback he’d stood in line behind once at the DMV.”

“Wow.” I grabbed a napkin and used it to brush a rogue peanut shell off the edge of the table. “That’s dedication.”

She grinned as she said, “He’s basically a one-man fan club. It’s actually kind of adorable.”

The bartender dropped the Finn and Emily Usual in front of me without being asked: a quad order of hot wings and the lemon drop cocktail I always ordered.

“Eat up.” I gestured at the wings as I sipped the drink.

Oh, that was dangerous. Sweet, citrusy sin with a vodka kick that made my shoulders finally ease by an inch.

Dallas arched a brow. “You’re, like, known here?”

“Sometimes,” I said, propping my elbows on the table and glancing toward the mounted TVs. “Finn introduced me to this place. He’s more of a regular than me. But my order’s always the same.”

Dallas was already lifting a wing to her lips. “Do you think maybe he might sign a ball or something for Micah? He’s got a birthday coming up and he’s a total pain to shop for.”