Free Rom-Com—Shopping for a Billionaire
(Book 1, Shopping for a Billionaire series) by Julia Kent (@jkentauthor)
Author: Julia
Kent
Release Date: June 2, 2014
Genre:
Romantic Comedy, Contemporary Romance
Description:
When mystery shopper Shannon Jacoby meets billionaire Declan
McCormick with her hand down a toilet in the men's room of one of his stores,
it's love at first flush in this hilarious new romantic comedy from New York
Times bestselling author Julia Kent.
Buy links:
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 sons in a household where the toilet seat is never, ever,
down
Social Media Links:
Read a teaser
Whoosh!
Whoosh!
I flush both urinals, then rush over to toilet #1. Whoosh! I stand in
front of the stall to #2 and get ready to flush that one.
I’m
in my own little world and let my guard down to ponder the question. I am also
exhausted and most definitely not in top form, because I let a few seconds go
by before realizing that someone is coming in the bathroom. Out of the corner
of my eye I see a business shoe, and that becomes a blur as I scurry into one
of the stalls and shut the door.
Heart
pounding, I stare at the dented back of the stall door. Then I look down. Chipped
red nail polish peeks up at me from my open-toed navy shoe. Aside from being
outed as a transgendered person in here, there’s no plausible reason why any
men’s room stall occupant should have red toenails.
I
quickly scramble to perch myself on the toilet, feet planted firmly on either
side of the rim, squatting over the open bowl like I am giving birth. Because I
am genetically incapable of balance—ever—and as my heart slams against my chest
so hard it might as well be playing a djembe, I lean carefully forward with one
arm against the back of the stall door, the other clutching my phone.
The
unmistakable sound of a man taking a whizz echoes through the bathroom. I can’t
help myself and look through the tiny crack in the door.
It’s
Mr. Sex in a Suit, his back to me. Thank goodness, because if I got a
full-frontal shot right now, then how would I answer the “aesthetically
pleasing” question from a strictly professional standpoint?
The
tiny bit of shifting I do to peer through the crack makes my right foot slip,
and I make a squeaking sound, then lose my grip on my phone as my arm flails.
Ka-PLUNK!
You
know that sound, right? I know, and you know, that I’ve just dropped my
smartphone in the toilet, but he thinks the man—he assumes it’s a man—in here
just delivered something the size of a two-hundred-year-old turtle into the
toilet.
I
look down. My phone is still glowing, open to the question “Is the bathroom
aesthetically pleasing?”
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