Shopping for a CEO (Shopping for a
Billionaire series Book 7) by Julia Kent now available check out the book and excerpts below.
Book Blurb
I’m thrilled to be the maid
of honor in my friend’s wedding, but the best man, Andrew McCormick, is a
chauvinistic pig with a God complex.
And I can’t stop kissing
him in closets.
(Don’t ask.)
He’s the brother of the
groom and the CEO of my biggest mystery shopping account, but suddenly he’s
refusing to be in the wedding. He won’t talk about it. Won’t see reason.
He’s such a man.
And he still won’t stop
kissing me in random closets.
(Thank goodness.)
I’m a fixer. That’s what I
do. I can fix anything if given the chance. But when the game is fixed there’s
only so much I can do.
The ball’s in his court
now.
Game on.
Shopping for a CEO is the
7th book in the New York Times and USA Today bestselling Shopping series. When
CEO Andrew McCormick and mystery shopper Amanda Warrick find themselves in the
unlikely position as maid of honor and best man in the Boston society wedding
of the year, an undeniable attraction and dual stubborn streaks add fuel to the
fire in this romantic comedy from Julia Kent.
Buy links
Amazon US: http://amzn.to/1MyMNVv
Amazon UK: http://amzn.to/1HDYXsO
iBooks: http://apple.co/1BTcs5l
Amazon Canada: http://amzn.to/1IaHf5I
Print: http://amzn.to/1M1Zc3W
BN: http://bit.ly/1fR0CV9
Kobo: http://bit.ly/1OkyPaX
Google Play: http://bit.ly/1J5zEV6
Amazon UK: http://amzn.to/1HDYXsO
iBooks: http://apple.co/1BTcs5l
Amazon Canada: http://amzn.to/1IaHf5I
Print: http://amzn.to/1M1Zc3W
BN: http://bit.ly/1fR0CV9
Kobo: http://bit.ly/1OkyPaX
Google Play: http://bit.ly/1J5zEV6
Excerpts from Shopping for a CEO
Excerpt
#1:
“Will the guys go commando?” Marie calls out. “True highlanders
don’t wear underwear.”
“The wedding is in July, Mom,” Amy calls back. “In Massachusetts. If
you’re going to make all those men wear wool kilts and socks, they’ll probably
gratefully go without underwear just to prevent heat exhaustion.”
Marie nods. “Good point.”
“But then there’s the issue of ball sweat,” Amy adds.
Marie frowns and jots down notes on a sticky pad. “Ball sweat?
That’s a real thing?”
Amy nods. “They make a special product for it.”
“There’s a product to cure ball sweat? Balls have sweat glands?
Where do they hide the pores? And how do you know this?”
“Venture capital project at my internship. They’re coming out with a
new product for breast sweat.”
“Now that I know about first hand,” Marie says with a knowing nod.
“Breasts do more work than people appreciate. The Girls work up a sweat on a
regular basis.”
Considering the fact that Marie hasn’t been pregnant or breastfed in
well over two decades, I don’t really want to know what kind of ‘work’ her
chest girls have been up to.
Shannon walks in. Chuckles runs to cuddle with her ankles, then rubs
his butthole all over her calf.
“Hi to you too, Chuckles. That’s exactly how Declan greets me most
nights.”
“Ewwwww,” Amy says, plugging her ears. “I hear enough about Mom’s
sex life. Don’t need to know more about yours.”
“Honey, does Declan have a problem with ball sweat?”
“Huh?” Shannon gives Amy an evil look. “What have you been telling
her?”
“Amy says the groom and groomsmen will need testicle powder if I ask
them to go commando for the wedding.”
“Testicle powder? Is that going to be a wedding favor?”
“Do they make such a thing?” Marie asks, interest piqued.
“Sure,” Amy says. “Personalized bottles and everything. Think of the
possibilities. Shannon and Declan, Dry Forever, with the date stamped on there
and a logo of a dove. People will forever associate your wedding with smooth
sacs.”
Excerpt
#2:
“Why did you kiss me the first time? That day when I barged into
your office?”
He nods, eyes looking at everything and nothing, finally settling on
my face. “Because you were so passionate about protecting Shannon. Because you
were adorable and irate and you had this energy I wanted to taste.”
I’m holding my breath. I thought we would spend this first date
doing the awkward getting-to-know you dance. Andrew’s gone right to the point.
Laser focus.
Just like a CEO.
“Taste?”
“Yes. I know what I want. I don’t equivocate. I decide and act. I
compartmentalize. I issue orders and execute strategy. You came in that day and
started ordering me around and it was cute and exciting and inspiring. Oddly
sensual. And when you kissed me -- ”
“_You_ kissed _me_!”
“And when _we_ kissed,” he says, eyebrows raised, as if settling
this point once and for all, “I got something far more forbidden than I
realized I was getting when I went for that simple taste of you.”
Forbidden?
“What’s that?”
He studies me, as if sizing me up, trying to determine whether he
should tell me what’s next. Or not. Finally, his face changes through a series
of three or four emotions, most of them involving some variation of
deliberation.
And then:
“You didn’t fit in a box.”
“I fit in a closet.”
He doesn’t laugh.
“You intrigued me.”
“Not enough to call me after that kiss, though.”
He shakes his head. My heart plummets.
“No, Amanda. The opposite. You intrigued me too much.”
I get the sense that the word ‘intrigued’ means something else.
“You mean I scared you.”
His eyes flash with emotion I can’t read.
“Yes.”
Men like Andrew McCormick don’t do this. They don’t lay their
emotions out on the table like this. Why is he doing this?
“Then why did you kiss me again? And again. And again again -- ”
“I don’t know.”
“C’mon.” The driver takes us onto the Mass Pike, lights flying by
like spaceships. Like little orbs shooting past us, filled with people
oblivious to the quantum shift taking place inside this tiny space. “You always
know. You’re a CEO. You compartmentalize. You execute. You decide. You act. You
can’t tell me that the great wunderkind Andrew Mc --”
He’s on me before I can take an inbreath to continue speaking, his
body so big and bold, so impulsive and unrelenting. The limo becomes its own
dimension, his hands seeking to hold all of me as we tumble into some new plane
of awareness that doesn’t factor into any life we’ve known until this moment.
His mouth finds mine, hands under my suit jacket, palm cupping the lines of my
breasts, my waist, my hips, and he’s tasting me again, this time with an urgent
need that comes from an honesty I don’t think he’s felt permission to express
in a very long time.
If ever.
About the Author
New York Times and USA Today Bestselling Author Julia Kent writes
romantic comedy with an edge, and new adult books that push contemporary
boundaries. From billionaires to BBWs to rock stars, Julia finds a sensual,
goofy joy in every book she writes, but unlike Trevor from Random Acts of Crazy, she has never kissed a chicken.
Find out more about the author and her books
Julia loves to hear from her
readers by email at jkentauthor@gmail.com, on Twitter @jkentauthor, and on
Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/jkentauthor . Visit her website at
JKentAuthor.com.
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