Shopping for the C.E.O Guest Post and Giveaway

October 02, 2015 Swan Creates 0 Comments

Shopping for a CEO by Julia Kent 

(Shopping for a Billionaire, #7) 

Publication date: September 29th 2015

Genres: Comedy, New Adult, Romance


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 Harrington 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.


Now welcome our special guest, the author herself, Julia Kent! 


I had a question that I was dying to know and Julia was more than happy to answer my question.  Thank you Julia!

My question was, how can you keep handle a Momzilla at a Wedding, especially when she has the knowledge that her son is a Billionaire?

Julia's response was in the form of 5 tips and here they are:

Top 5 Ways to Handle a Momzilla at a Billionaire’s Wedding

5. Tiramisu. Preferably with something in it she can choke on.

4. Use the word “Elope” repeatedly, like garlic waved at a vampire.

3. Accept, with defeat, the fact that you’re going to have to wear that tartan thong that matches your dress for the Scottish-themed wedding.

2. Offer her an unlimited budget (hey, you’re a billionaire...).

1. When all else fails, run away. Sometimes the only way to win is not to play. ;)

Thank you Julia for those excellent tips. Now that we had fun asking questions, here's an excerpt of the book.


“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.


“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.”


“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.


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.

Oh, things are getting spicy.  And since I love to torture you guys so much, I'll give you another excerpt to make your anticipation of the book, that mich greater.


"Amanda!' Greg bellows as I walk into the office. He's sitting in the reception area with Josh, who looks like someone made him stick his tongue in an electric socket. "You're pregnant!"

"I'm what?" That's news to me, and I think I'd know long before Greg.

He thumbs toward Josh. "And he's the father."

I laugh. "That's not possible, Greg. Josh is gay."

"Gay men can sleep with women," Greg insists. "My Uncle Angus did for fifty-seven years while he was married to Aunt Joy."

"I'm Gold Star Gay," Josh whispers.

"They give out gold stars for it?" Greg asks, incredulous. "Like, a secret society?"

"Yeah," I say. "It's like the AARP. One day the card just comes in the mail and you wonder how they know you qualify."

Greg frowns. “We don’t get gold stars for being straight. I don’t understand.”

Josh rolls his eyes and rallies, the shade of green in his face replaced by a healthy glow. “Gold star gay men are men who’ve never slept with a woman.”

“Never?” Greg asks. I can tell he’s trying to keep his incredulity out of his voice. He accomplishes this by grabbing a donut from the box Carol brought in yesterday and shoving the entire thing in his mouth.

Josh shakes his head.

“Mmmmf evermmmmf?” Greg says. Or tries to say. I’m not sure what he actually says, because I’m dodging the spray of rainbow sprinkles coming out of him.

“Nope. Never.” Apparently, Josh can understand the universal language of Donut.

Greg swallows in one giant gulp, like a snake eating a mouse. He sniffs, then looks at me. “Does that make me Gold Star Straight?”

“Huh?” Josh and I ask in unison.

“If I’ve never slept with a man,” Greg says slowly, contemplating the issue while picking crumbs off his tie and licking them off his fingers, “then I’m Gold Star Straight.”

“He’s got a point,” I admit, giving Josh a look that says, _They don’t pay us enough for conversations like this_.

“That’s not how it works,” Josh says in a grumpy voice.

“Why not?” Now Greg is indignant. “You get gay marriage now. We should get our own gold stars. I want a gold star.”

Josh is speechless. I am struggling to decide whether I would rather go on another date with Mr. Anal Gland Hands or spend one more minute hearing Greg talk about his sex life.

Anal glands for the win.

“You want a gold star for what?” Carol asks, walking in with what looks like a bag full of chocolate foil tractors, scarecrow lollipops, and hard candies shaped like ears of corn. She’s wearing denim overalls, a red and white checkered shirt, and her blonde hair is pulled back in a ponytail. If Hee Haw were still on, I’d think she was an extra on the show.

I cock one eyebrow and look at her goodies.

“Farming trade show,” she sighs. “You get the wedding trade shows, I get the cranky old farmers who want to talk about bursitis and soybean futures.”

“Well,” I say magnanimously, stepping behind her and putting one hand on her shoulder, “you can take my place in _this_ work conversation.”

“Talking about gold stars?” she asks, a bit befuddled. “Is there a special reward system I don’t know about?”

“Something like that,” Josh mumbles. “Let’s stop talking about my sex life.”

“Sex life?” Carol snorts, really confused now. She grabs a foil-covered tractor and begins peeling it, taking a bite. The tire snaps off in her mouth. “What do gold stars have to do with sex lives? Now we have sticker charts for sex?”

“That’s what I’m wondering!” Greg bellows, reaching for one of the chocolates. “How come Josh gets a gold star for not sleeping with women but I can’t get a gold star for not sleeping with men?”

“I’m not sleeping with men or women,” Carol says sadly, eating the tractor’s engine now. “What do I get for that?”

I reach across my desk and grab a sheaf of papers, sliding them to her. “You get the sex toy shops I took.”

She looks at the chocolate in her hand. Glances at the papers. Then the pile of chocolate.

“Why are you giving me those?”

“Because Amanda’s pregnant,” Greg explains helpfully, his mouth full of a tractor.

“_Work_ pregnant or _pregnant_ pregnant?” Carol asks casually. These conversations have become alarmingly normal to me.

“Work pregnant, I assume,” I reply. “Because if I’m _pregnant_ pregnant, then my vibrator has some explaining to do.”

Did I torture you guys too much?  I'm sorry to say that I'm not sorry for doing it.  But to make you guys feel better, here's a little giveaway for you guys.

a Rafflecopter giveaway

The giveaway does not end with just this, head over to my Facebook page for your chance to win your very own e-book copy of Shopping for a C.E.O HERE


New York Times and USA Today Bestselling Author Julia Kent turned to writing contemporary romance after deciding that life is too short not to have fun. She 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.

She loves to hear from her readers by 
email at, 
on Twitter @jkentauthor, 
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