Page 156 of Pack Plus One

“Beat him at his own game,” Caleb says simply, his voice rumbling against my back where I’m tucked against his chest.

“By making the best damn pastries in the city,” Liam elaborates from my other side.

“And by leveraging our collective skills to hit him out of the water,” Mason adds from his corner.

“And by looking hot as hell while doing it,” Jude contributes sleepily from the foot of the nest. “Never underestimate the power of attractiveness in customer acquisition.”

I smile into the darkness, their confidence infectious. “Okay,” I say. “We’ll beat him fair and square.”

“Mostly fair,” Jude amends. “Square-adjacent, at minimum.”

“Jude,” Liam and Mason warn in unison.

“Fine,” Jude huffs. “But if we’re going completely legit, someone needs to remind Caleb that growling at health inspectors is frowned upon.”

Caleb’s answering growl rumbles through the nest, making me giggle. I snuggle closer, enjoying the warmth of their bodies and the easy banter. Sleep pulls at me, and the last thing I hear is Jude’s whispered comment: “Dibs on the omega in the morning.”

30

LEAH

Aweek flies by without me noticing. So much to do before the bakery opens and the time is almost here.

Twenty-four hours. We moved up the launch and that’s how long we have until Sweet Omega’s official grand opening. One day that suddenly feels like two minutes thanks to Eric.

“We need to move faster,” I announce to the pack gathered in my bakery. “Everything needs to be perfect by Thursday.”

Caleb emerges from the storage room, carrying a stack of shelving units that he sets down with controlled strength. His forearms flex as he arranges the pieces, and I definitely don’t get distracted watching the movement of muscle under tanned skin. Definitely not.

“The display cases are positioned,” he reports. “Floor has been refinished. Sign is installed. What’s next?”

I consult my mental checklist, which has grown exponentially. “Shelving needs to be assembled, counter area needs final cleaning, menu boards need to be finished, and I need to finalize the opening day selection.”

“I’ll handle the shelves,” Caleb says, already reaching for his drill.

“Menu boards are nearly complete,” Liam calls from the small office where he’s been working on the elegant chalkboard displays. “Just finalizing the specials section.”

“And I’m documenting everything for maximum social impact,” Jude adds, lifting his phone to snap a candid photo of me in my flour-covered apron. “The ‘authentic bakery experience’ aesthetic is very hot right now.”

“Delete that,” I warn, pointing a spatula at him. “I look like I’ve been attacked by a flour bomb.”

“Exactly,” Jude grins, typing something on his screen. “Hashtag bakery life, hashtag flour queen, hashtag sweet omega rising.”

I lunge for his phone, but he dances away with the grace of an alpha who’s spent years avoiding consequences for his actions.

“Too late,” he singsongs. “Already posted to the bakery’s story. Fourteen likes already. The people want authentic, Leah!”

“The people can have authentic when I don’t look like a powdered donut,” I grumble, trying to hide my smile as I return to my cleaning.

Mason glances up from his tablet, his expression shifting to something I’ve come to recognize as his version of concern. “You haven’t slept properly in thirty-six hours,” he observes. “Do you want to take a break? We can handle the work for a bit.”

“I’m fine,” I insist, even as my body betrays me with a jaw-cracking yawn.

“Obviously,” Liam says dryly, appearing in the office doorway with a mug of tea that he sets on the counter near me. “Drink this. It’s chamomile.”

“I don’t need chamomile,” I protest. “I need more hours in the day.”

“What you need,” Caleb says without looking up from the shelf he’s assembling, “is to delegate. You can’t do everything yourself.”