Page 1 of How to Lose a Pack in 10 Dates

Chapter One

Aimee

There are only three reasons Rachel Brooks calls you into her office before noon.

One: you’re getting promoted.

Two: you’re getting fired.

Three: you said something online that made legal cry.

I already know it’s not the first two, which means it’s the tweet.

“You’re late,” Rachel says, eyes still on her laptop.

“I’m not.” I drop into the chair across from her, crossing one leg over the other. “You just started early.”

She sighs, then taps her laptop screen. “You tweeted this at 11:42 p.m. last night:‘Dating apps are for delusional Omegas and Alphas who can’t pull without an algorithm sniffing their junk.’”

“Ok-ay,” I blink. “But, like… where’s the lie?”

Rachel finally lifts her head and looks at me. Her expression is the same one I imagine ancient gods used when peasants started having feelings and unionizing.

“You’re lucky it went viral.”

“I mean, Iamthe voice of the people.”

“Please. You’re the voice of a feral omega in discount pajama bottoms with a soy sauce stain.”

“That’s identity, Rachel. That’sbranding.”

“Andthat’swhy you’re writing this piece,” she counters.

“What piece?” I frown.

She smirks, and my eyes widen as my brain kicks into gear.

“I’m not writing a puff piece about scent-matching tech, if that’s what this is.”

“Oh, it’s not puff,” she assures me. “It’s spicy. Opinionated. Slightly unhinged. You in article form, basically.”

“I don’t write dating content,” I say. “I writerealcolumns. Investigative, edgy, omega-perspective pieces. I’m not sticking my nose in that pheromonal hellscape.”

“It’s not ‘dating content’. It’s investigative journalism with tits, and it’s why you’re perfect for this,” she counters. “I want an exposé on modern scent-syncing and algorithmic compatibility scores. The apps, the scent-matching, and the absolute nightmare of it all. You’ll join one and document the experience.”

I squint at her. “This is because of that documentary, isn’t it? The omega who thought she scent-matched a hedge fund alpha, but he was a bonded beta with a rental car and seasonal allergies?”

“That’s the one. Now she’s seventy grand in debt and still thinks it was fate.”

I frown as I lean back in my chair. “I’m not romanticizing that.”

“You won’t be,” she insists. “I want itshredded. I want you to bulldoze the concept of scent-based compatibility and salt the earth behind you.”

I fold my arms. “This still sounds like a trap.”

“It’s a trapwith benefits. Think of the hate-reads,” she shoots back. “It’s pheromones meets machine learning. It’s tech trying to hijack instinct. It’s messy, and it’s got teeth.”

“It’s Tinder with glands.”

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