RELEASE BLITZ Title: Shopping for a CEO’s Baby Series: Shopping for a Billionaire #16 Author: Julia Kent Genre: Romantic Comedy Release Date: October 27, 2020   BLURB   It’s Andrew and Amanda’s turn… in duplicate We’re having twins. Twins. Which means my swimmers are stronger than my brother’s. I win. Yeah, yeah, everyone can say it’s not a competition, but it is. And we all know it. Two babies at once means double the fun, and double the misery for my poor wife, Amanda. While I’m growing a Fortune 500 company, she’s growing two entire human beings out of nothing but orange cheese snacks and ice cream. Do you have any idea how hard I’ve worked during this pregnancy, tracking down orange smoothies for her? Not to mention being forced to Facetime into a childbirth class on perineal massage, rescuing Chuckles the cat from being shaved bald by my two-year-old niece, and fighting with a wife who has named the twins Lefty and Righty. By the time we hit the ninth month, my entire world revolves around pleasing — and protecting — her.  Even if it means humiliating myself in the name of love. Wait a minute. Wait a minute, now. Hold on. Is she the one who’s winning? Andrew and Amanda are BACK in the newest New York Times bestselling Shopping series book as they “beat” Declan and Shannon in the baby competition, but at what cost? As their future awaits them in the form of twins, Amanda and Andrew face ghosts from the past with wit, humor, and most of all — plenty of love.     GOODREADS LINK: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/54913549-shopping-for-a-ceo-s-baby     BOOKBUB LINK: https://www.bookbub.com/books/shopping-for-a-ceo-s-baby-by-julia-kent     PURCHASE LINKS   US: https://amzn.to/2HqtTsy UK: https://amzn.to/31vGrGl CA: https://amzn.to/35oWbvU AU: https://amzn.to/3ocTgyZ B&N: https://bit.ly/3olRhsz Kobo: https://bit.ly/31q9J9m Apple Books: https://apple.co/2FRhI7W Google Play: https://bit.ly/37seiUp Paperback: https://amzn.to/31v5tp1     EXCERPTS   #1   I look at my phone. Andrew.   I'll be home for dinner. What do you want?   For the last few weeks, we've ordered takeout every single night, because I never know what my stomach will or won’t be able to handle. I close my eyes and ask myself what I want, and reply:   Grilled salmon with paprika. Cantaloupe. Sautéed carrots in honey and cumin.   He texts back: I see you’re sticking with the orange theme.   I send an emoji of someone an orange sticking out its tongue.   Will do, he replies. I'll have Consuela make it and bring it home after the gym.   Then I get a heart.   Consuela owns a private restaurant in the Seaport District, the kind that you can't know about unless you know someone who knows someone. It's our special place, and since morning sickness has ravaged me, Consuela's been gracious enough to meet my weirdo dietary needs.   She also takes it as a challenge. My palate has expanded considerably as a result of her driving mission to find new orange foods.   I reply with: You mean you'll have Gina contact Consuela to do it all, and have Gerald pick it up and bring it to the house.   Same thing, he texts back.   “I love how you smile when you think about Andrew,” Mom says, making me look up from my phone.   “Huh?”   “You two are so in love.”   My smile broadens. “We are.”   She looks at my belly. “Those babies are very, very fortunate.”   “Billionaire's kids,” I mutter.   “No. You could be penniless and they'd be so, so blessed. You and Andrew are going to be wonderful parents.”   “How do you know?”   Tenderness floods her face as she reaches for me. I stand and bend before her, her hand on my shoulder, eyes shining with something close to tears.   “Because you have such a good heart. You always did. You're smart and sweet and you care about people and want to help them. And Andrew loves you deeply. I may not understand his ambition, but I do see that he's a loving man.”   #2   Andrew   My wife is orange.   She is caked with orange dust, on her fingers, in her cuticles, and her lips are the color of a traffic cone. She's in the kitchen, standing in front of the blender, drinking something–   You guessed it.   Orange.   “Mmmmm,” she moans as she drinks straight from the blender itself. “Isss izz soooooo goooo.”   “What are you drinking?”   “Eeeto-eenie.”   “What?”   A swallow later and she says, “Cheeto-cini.” When my sister-in-law, Shannon, was pregnant with my niece, Amanda created a special orange smoothie for her out of Cheetos, marshmallow cream, and orange sherbet.   My wife has modified it to remove the sherbet and replace it with coocnut milk, which does nothing to change the fact that it's vile to the core.   It's just slightly less gross now.   “Another one?”   “It's the only thing that stays down.”   “And the doctor really says this is okay?” I say, staying far away from the blender, knowing how territorial she is about her food. She's pregnant and still stuck deep in morning sickness.   For the last few weeks, all she's eaten is this.   Cheeto smoothie.   And nothing else.   “It's full-fat coconut milk. One big leaf of kale.” She makes a gagging sound. “Apple juice. One banana. And Cheetos. I freeze the fruit and it tastes like a milkshake.”   “Our babies are made up of that.” At least she added the kale, banana, and apple juice this time.   “I choke down a prenatal vitamin, too, Andrew.” Her eyes tear up and her chin quivers.   Damn.   “It's fine. Good. I'm so glad you can eat something. Really. Not judging you. I know you are doing everything possible for our babies.” I rub the spot between her shoulder blades, hoping I can calm her down before a full-blown meltdown kicks in.   “I am! Everything,” she says before gobbling down more of that candy corn-colored monstrosity. “I've lost two pounds. The doctor said the placenta looks fine and the babies are growing within range, but this morning sickness is horrible. If I drink water, I puke! If I drink this–” she points at the blender, “–I don't.”   “Then by all means, drink that.” I hold back a shudder. My trainer, Vince, would have an unexpected coronary if he saw Cheetos in a Vitamix.   “I–I know I'm not doing this the way another wife would. A better wife. A wife who is stronger and who...” Her lower lip begins to quiver.   Here we go again.   #3   Amanda   I open my eyes, the words running through my head before I'm fully awake.   Twenty-three weeks, three days.   That's my first thought.   The second is: I need to hump my husband.   Some impulse centers itself between my legs, turning me into a rocking nerve ending, my entire body so horny, it's like some gene in me got flipped and my entire purpose in life is to orgasm in a continuous loop.   “Help,” I whisper to Andrew as I slide my bare thigh against his hair-covered one, his body gloriously nude, which only ratchets up my sex-crazed fever.   “What's wrong?”   “I need you to let me have sex with you again.”   One eye narrows, the other holding steady as I reach for him, finding him halfway to where I need him.   “Excuse me?”   “Can I please have sex with you again? I know we just did it–” I look at the clock, squinting to read the numbers, “–seven hours ago, but I–”   The kiss answers me.   “You don't have to ask.”   “Of course I do! Consent is very important.”   His erection twitches in my hand, jumping slightly.   “There's my consent.”   This isn't slow sex. It's fast and hard, the kisses hot, my legs parted and my body centered over him in seconds. The grinding need to have him touch the deep ache inside and unclench it is too furious, too intense to ignore.   I'm bent over him, hips rolling up, belly hardening with each curl as I ride, ride, ride to climax. My thighs pull him in deeper, knees pressing against his tight ass, my hands on his chest, his head bobbing up to suck one breast at the perfect moment of ecstasy, making me moan into eternity.   And then–snap. I'm done.   I climb off and kiss his cheek.   “Thank you!”   #4   Andrew   Vince grabs my hand before I can touch the forties I'm about to do curls with.   “What the hell is that?” He points to my orange cuticles.   “Cheeto stains.”   “You're eating Cheetos?” He sounds like I just told him I cooked my father's liver and ate it on a buttered croissant. Not sure whether he'd be more outraged at the patricide or the carb count.   “Not me. My wife.”   “Yeah, yeah. All my clients blame their partner. You're on a strict program, Andrew. No chemicals, no grains, no–”   “Flavor,” Declan mutters under his breath as Gerald smirks. We're working out at this shithole gym Vince likes, only this time is different.   Because I bought the place.   Declan's not the only McCormick who can go out on his own and buy a company. No one, other than Amanda, knows I did this.   And don't ask me why I did it.     AUTHOR BIO   New York Times and USA Today Bestselling Author Julia Kent writes romantic comedy with an edge. From billionaires to BBWs to new adult rock stars, Julia finds a sensual, goofy joy in every contemporary romance she writes. Unlike Shannon from Shopping for a Billionaire, she did not meet her husband after dropping her phone in a men's room toilet (and he isn't a billionaire). She lives in New England with her husband and three children in a household where the toilet seat is never, ever, down     AUTHOR LINKS   Website: http://www.jkentauthor.com Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/jkentauthor Twitter: https://twitter.com/jkentauthor Newsletter: http://bit.ly/2PIBi9n Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/jkentauthor Bookbub: https://www.bookbub.com/authors/julia-kent Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/jkentauthor Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Julia-Kent/e/B00A99V268