Title: Karma’s a Bit*h
Author: Este Holland
Publisher: Self-publish
Release Date: May 15, 2020
Length: 50,000
Genre: Romance, Contemporary, Gay romance, Boss/employee
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Synopsis
Jake Michelson plays it safe. All he wants to do is keep a roof over his head and graduate from NYU in a few months. He can count on three things in life: his job at Dinkin’s Donuts, his best friend Marri, and school.
Archer Ferraro plays by his own rules. The one thing he can’t stand is when bad people get away with doing bad things. He’s dedicated his life to righting the wrongs the police can’t or won’t handle.
When Archer accidentally upsets Jake’s life, he vows to make it right and hires him.
Together, Jake and Archer must work on a new case involving stolen jewelry and a womanizer, deal with a lawyer brother and a jailbird father, and stay out of the cops’ way.
Should be easy…right?
Chapter 1
Jake
I couldn’t believe my life had come to this. I stared in a daze, hypnotized by the round shape in my palm. How could something so small be so destructive?
“Don’t do it, Jake. It’s not worth it.”
“I guarantee you, it is.”
Marri Wilson shook her head, sending her lilac spiral curls flying. “You’ll regret it. Just like that time freshman year when you ate that entire pecan pie from the dorm fridge, and you hurled out your window. Remember?”
“That doesn’t mean I’ll regret eating a donut.”
“Oh, please. I know you. When you’re stressed, you overeat, and when you overeat, you purge. It’s not healthy.”
“I know. But it’s not like it happens all the time. Usually just around finals.”
Marri frowned and clacked her way—on four-inch heels—over the stained linoleum to a small table.
“I love the dress today.”
“Thanks!” She beamed and fluffed the collar of her fake chinchilla fur coat and spread out the skirt of her dress, so the rhinestones sparkled. Marri wanted to be an actress, and she’d always taken the saying “Dress for the job you want” seriously. I’d never seen her in a normal college student outfit. Most girls our age wore stretch pants and hoodies to class. Some went dressier in the summer, with skirts and shorts, but that was about it. NYU wasn’t exactly Fashion Week.
I was the typical college guy, only gay, but that wasn’t exactly unheard of today. We were still a minority, but there were a lot more LGBTQ+ clubs and activities on campus and in the city than there’d been even a few years ago when I was a freshman.
The door banged open, and we jumped. I shut the donut case and stood. “Welcome to Dinkin’s Donuts.”
“Yeah, you have any oil?”
I blinked at the man striding to the counter. He was beautiful, with hair the color of the chocolate I coated on the donuts every morning and round, hazel eyes staring at me with impatience. If this were a movie, the wind would blow his hair around in slow motion, and he’d wink at me.
“Hello? Oil?”
My stupid paper hat slipped, and I straightened it. “Oh, uh, well, it’s used to make the donuts, but we don’t sell it, if that’s what you mean.”
“You will today.” He braced the heels of his hands on the counter and rounded his shoulders. “I need it. Badly. I have a pest problem I have to take care of.”
“Um…” I glanced at Marri, who was watching the exchange over the top of her Jackie O glasses like off-Broadway dinner theater. “What pest?”
The customer lowered his elbows to the counter. His black leather jacket fell open, showing off smooth olive skin over gently curved collarbones under a faded blue T-shirt. “Oh, he’s about five-ten, blond, gym rat. Dude bro. You know the type?” I opened my mouth, but he kept going. “Thinks he’s God’s gift to men. Thinks he’s got me wrapped around his little finger, because my neck isn’t the size of a tree trunk!” He slammed his hand on the counter, rattling the condiment jars. He cleared his throat and smoothed a strand of wayward hair. “Sorry.”
I blinked. “No problem. So, what do you need the oil for?”
The most sinister smile I’d ever seen stretched his lips, and I took a small step back. If I were Dude Bro, I’d be shitting myself.
“I’m going to pour it over every inch of his precious Camaro.”
Marri sucked in a breath. “Oh, damn.”
“But you could get caught!” I cried.
One of his manicured brows rose. “So?”
My face heated, and I fidgeted with the napkin holder. “I mean, you could get arrested, or he could hurt you.”
His eyes softened and he smiled with pink sculpted lips, making his already gorgeous face even more attractive. “You’re sweet. Now, how much for the oil?”
We weren’t supposed to sell the buckets of oil used to make the dough, but I gave him one for forty dollars because I was a sucker like that.
“Do you need help carrying it?” I don’t know why I asked. We weren’t too dissimilar in our slim builds. I was a few inches shorter, but he obviously worked out regularly. The only exercise I ever got was lifting those buckets and starting the industrial mixers in the kitchen. Oh, and walking up five flights of stairs to get to my studio apartment.
“Nah.” His smile turned impish. “Thanks for your help.” A heavy gaze raked over my face and neck and kept going until it reached my nametag. “Jake.”
“You’re welcome.”
He waved as he shouldered the door open and disappeared.
I blew out a breath.
“Wow.” Marri’s voice brought me back to reality.
“What?”
“He was hot and feisty. You know I love me a feisty man.”
“And gay,” I pointed out.
She scoffed. “Like that’s ever stopped me.”
“True.”
We stared at each other. I scrambled out from behind the counter as Marri opened the door, skidding on her heels. She grabbed on to me, and I managed to catch her. We looked left and right on the sidewalk and spotted Oil Guy lugging the bucket over to a vintage, black Camaro parked illegally in a loading zone.
He pried off the lid, straining and puffing, opened the front door, and lifted the bucket to the driver’s seat. I closed my eyes, then squinted one open. The thick, yellow liquid spilled over the rim, flooded the front seat, and dripped to the floorboard and out onto the street. He lifted the bucket and slopped great globs onto the passenger seat, over the dashboard, and into the back seat.
Marri and I cringed as we leaned out the shop door. Oil Guy threw the bucket into the car, slammed the door, and gave us a wink before marching off.
We went inside, and after a few silent beats, started laughing and couldn’t stop.
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Este Holland is a writer and reader of all things Romance. She’s also a treasure hunter, a word wizard, a lover, and a fighter. She was born and raised in WV, and now lives in Virginia. She works in marketing during the day. She began writing novels in 2012.
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