Page 18 of Pack Plus One (Sweetwater City Reverse Harem Omegaverse #1)

Flipping through the pages, I can’t help but be impressed by the thoroughness.

There are detailed sections on “scent-pairing options” (color-coded by intensity and aroma profile), “omega-friendly atmosphere enhancements,” and—I nearly choke—“ Your needs are our priority ” printed in three different sample fonts for me to choose from.

There are actual business card mock-ups tucked into the appendix, each with a different logo design for our partnership. One of them combines my cupcake with omega sprinkles alongside their lion emblem.

The amount of work that went into this is staggering. He must have worked on this for hours .

I’m still staring at this masterpiece when the scent hits me.

Dark chocolate and espresso with that dangerous alpha edge that makes my knees weak. My head snaps up just as Caleb steps into view.

Our eyes lock.

He’s wearing a replica of that same damn shirt that clings to his shoulders like it was painted on. Morning stubble shadows his jaw, and his green eyes blaze with something that steals the breath from my lungs.

For one suspended heartbeat, we just stare at each other.

Then instinct takes over.

Panic flares like someone just lit a firework in my chest. I slam the door so hard the impact rattles my teeth.

My back hits the wood as if I could physically hold it shut against six feet of determined alpha.

I fumble with the lock, my fingers suddenly all thumbs.

The lock clicks a second before his knuckles rap against the other side.

“Leah.” My name is a growl that vibrates through the door and straight down my spine. “Open up.”

My hands shake as I press them flat against the wood. I swear I can feel the heat of him through the barrier, smell his scent intensifying with frustration. Or is it amusement? With alphas, it’s always hard to tell.

Three more deliberate knocks. “I can see your shadow under the door, sweetheart.” A pause. “And I can smell your...” He inhales deeply, and I swear I feel it like he just licked a long line from my belly button to my throat. “Interesting reaction to seeing me.”

Fire floods my cheeks. Something inside me preens at his attention even as my brain screams retreat.

“Leah?”

Think, Leah, think !

My gaze lands on my open window.

Fire escape. It’s a long shot, but it’s the only option I have.

I scramble through my apartment like a burglar who just tripped the alarm, nearly face-planting over my own coffee table. My oversized emerald sweater—the one I specifically bought to look chic and unbothered—snags on a rogue nail as I fling open the window and I clamber onto the metal platform.

“Of course,” I mutter, wrestling with the fabric. “Because why wouldn’t there be a rusty death trap waiting for me right now?”

A thread of green yarn unravels behind me like a breadcrumb trail, marking my path of shame. Perfect. Now they’ll have evidence .

The metal groans ominously beneath my feet.

This is how horror movies start .

I take one step down.

The entire structure shudders.

This is also how horror movies end .

I look down. All that’s there is the giant dumpster and the little service entrance road that I’ll use to make my escape far far away from this place. I make it exactly one flight before the universe remembers it hates me. My foot slips on a loose rung, and suddenly, I’m airborne.

Time slows.

I have approximately 1.7 seconds to contemplate my life choices:

Why didn’t I just answer the door like a normal person?

Why did I wear my nice leggings today?

Is this how I die? With my body broken on asphalt?

Then—

THUD.

I land with a bone-jarring impact in something soft and warm and?—

Oh God.

Oh no.

The dumpster.

Just my luck.

“Let me get this straight,” Zoe says, lowering her phone after taking what must be the fiftieth photo of my misery. “You’re hiding from four hot, rich, devoted men because...?”

I groan from the depths of her bathtub, sinking deeper into the steaming water. The lingering scent of garbage clings stubbornly to my hair despite two rounds of shampoo.

“Because it’s insane, Zo! Three days ago, I was kneading dough. Now I’m questioning my life choices! And taking a bath in your bathroom because I landed in a dumpster trying to escape one of them!”

Zoe bursts out laughing again, snapping another photo. “Say ‘cheese.’ This face is going on your bakery’s ‘About Us’ page.”

“I hate you,” I inform her, sinking lower until the water reaches my chin.

“No, you don’t.” She perches on the toilet seat, scrolling through her photos with a satisfied smile. “What you hate is that you have four gorgeous men, a pack I might add, chasing you, and instead of enjoying it like any sane omega would, you’re hiding in dumpsters.”

“It’s not that simple,” I protest. “It’s... complicated.”

“What’s complicated? You like them. They like you. You’ve already had mind-blowing sex. The only complicated thing is why you’re fighting this so hard.”

I close my eyes, trying to articulate the swirl of emotions churning inside me. “It’s too much, too fast. I barely know them, Zo. And they barely know me. This isn’t some fairytale where everyone lives happily ever after after one magical night.”

“No,” Zoe agrees, her voice softening. “It’s real life, where sometimes good things happen, and you have to decide whether to grab them with both hands or run away like a coward.”

I peek at her through one eye. “Low blow.”

She shrugs, unrepentant. “You climbed out a fire escape and landed in literal garbage to avoid talking to a man who brought you coffee. I think we’ve moved beyond niceties.”

“It’s not just Caleb,” I sigh. “It’s all of them. Jude and his ridiculous humor, Liam with his gentle encouragement, Mason with his... silent intensity. It’s overwhelming.”

“What’s overwhelming is that you’re sitting in my bathtub smelling like yesterday’s tuna casserole because you couldn’t just say ‘I need space’ like a normal person.”

I splash water at her, which she dodges too easily.

“Fine,” I concede. “I’ll text them. Tell them I need more time to think.”

“Or,” Zoe suggests, her eyes gleaming with mischief, “you could invite them over. All of them. At once. Like a... pack interview.”

The mental image of all four of them crammed into my tiny apartment makes my stomach do a complicated flip.

“Absolutely not.”

“Your loss,” Zoe sighs dramatically. “Now, hurry up and finish decontaminating yourself. You still have a bakery to launch, and unlike your love life, your sourdough won’t wait forever.”