Lights, Camera, Omega (Hollywood Omegas #1)

Something about the way she called Pack Silver ‘Sol Cooper’s pack’ both dug at my pride and delighted me.

To the public, we are predominantly known as the “Panopticon Pictures pack,” since it is indeed the place of our employ and artistic endeavors. Unlike Pack Dubois who are open about using Benton’s surname for their pack identification.

Pack Silver is our own private name. In truth, even some of our closest friends don’t know from whence our name is derived—those few who know our true name at all…

For her to identify us by Sol is at once a huge testament to Sol’s instant lovability and an instant insinuated slight to my position as packmaster, but for some reason, I’m finding it difficult to mind.

“Well, yes that’s all well and good, but—” Vinny protests.

“No ‘buts’ Vinny! That is the last time I wanna see any of those Lost Daze guys—especially Johnny Angel—end of story!” Daphne shouts, exhibiting a beautiful amount of spine.

Vinny’s shoulders slump. It appears he has accepted his defeat.

I contemplate stepping out, heroically offering her a ride home; but before I can reveal myself, Daphne kicks off her d’orsay pumps and stomps away—car keys jingling in her hands.

I watch her, the soles of her feet darkening with grime with each step on the filthy sidewalk, as she makes her way to a beat-up white mustang parked on the edge of the valet lot.

I stand and smoke my spliff as I watch her drop the heels and her clutch purse inside the cracked, tan leather interior, a five dollar bill passing in a crumple between her and the kid working the lot.

I’m starting to see what Julian and Sol are so interested in.

After the nearly disastrous meeting with the Lost Daze pack the night before, I’m up at dawn and on my way to the beach to catch some waves before I have to get ready for my brunch meeting with the Panopticon Pictures pack.

The water is soothing, and the waves aren’t awful—I actually manage a few good rides on my longboard before I have to bundle it under my arm and pedal home.

Imagine my surprise when I get home—and see a string of text messages on my phone from Vinny before the ripe hour of 8AM, waiting in my inbox.

I steel myself and open the first in the chain.

Vinny

Daph, slight change in logistics for today’s meeting with Panopticon Pictures pack. Working out details with Magnus Wagner directly right now. Will text when I hear back from him.

My stomach does a little loop-the-loop. Of all the things Vinny might fuck up for me—this better not be one of them. I continue on to the next message in the series, my heart already in my throat.

Vinny

Magnus is saying they don’t want to meet at the restaurant anymore. He’s making it sound like they want you to just come to his (absolutely huge) place in the Hollywood hills for brunch and to meet the rest of the pack.

With all the catastrophes I’d been imagining, Magnus’ offer is a welcome surprise. There’s still another few messages though, and I don’t quite allow myself to give into hope—I’m confident that there’s time yet for Vinny to bungle it.

Vinny

Now he’s saying that there’s no need for me to come along–that it might be ‘better’ for you to come by yourself.

I don’t know how the hell they expect you to get into that exclusive neighborhood on your own, let me see if he’s thinking of sending a car or limo or what.

“Yes!” I actually shout out loud, doing a stompy-foot dance in a small circle as I read his message. A meeting without skeezy Vinny or some other agent breathing down our necks the entire time? Please and thank you. I’m already waltzing happily to the shower as I hurry to the next message—the first words slowing my steps to a stop.

Vinny

I don’t know about this, Daph.

When I asked if he would be sending a car to pick you up, he said that he’d be sending Sol Cooper to pick you up.

Totally unprofessional if you ask me.

Plus, the optics of meeting up with a pack for the first time without your agents?