Julia Kent

Cover Reveal – Perky by Julia Kent

Title: Perky
Author: Julia Kent
Genre: Romantic Comedy

Cover Design: Hang Le

Release Date: July 30, 2019
Blurb
AN ALL-NEW STANDALONE FROM NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLING AUTHOR JULIA KENT

One hundred years ago when I was young and impulsive (okay, it was five,
alright? Five years ago…) I let my boyfriend take, let’s just say…
compromising pictures of me.

(Shut up. It made sense at the time).

Surprise! The sleazy back-stabbing jerk posted them on a website and,
well, you can guess what happened. That’s right.

I’m a meme. A really gross one.

You’ve seen the pictures. And if you haven’t – don’t ask. And don’t look!

As face recognition software online improves, I get tagged on social
media whenever anyone shares my pictures. You try getting a thousand
notifications a day, all of them pictures of your tatas.

So. I’m done.

It’s time for revenge. Let him see how it feels! But how do you get
embarrassingly intimate pictures of your jerkface ex who double-crossed you
five years ago?

Especially when he’s a member of the U.S.House of Representatives now?

Getting sweet between the sheets with a congressman is pretty much every
political roadie’s dream, right? I’m one in a crowd.

Except to this day, he swears he didn’t do it. Pursued me for months
after I dumped him five years ago. Begged me to take him back.

And I almost did it. Almost. I was weak and stupid and in love a hundred
years ago.

Okay. Fine. Five.

But I still have the upper hand. Second chance romance has all the
emotional feels, doesn’t it?

I can’t wait to punch him in the feels.

All I need to do is sleep with him once, take some hot-and-sweaty pics of
him in… delicate positions, and bring him down. That’s it. Nothing more.

Pictures first. Revenge after. And then I win.

At least, that’s how it was supposed to happen. But then I did something
worse than sexting.

I fell in love with him. Again.
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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.
Author Links
WEBSITE

FACEBOOK

TWITTER

NEWSLETTER

INSTAGRAM

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GOODREADS

AMAZON

Release Boost – Fluffy by Julia Kent

Title: Fluffy
Author: Julia Kent
Genre: Romantic Comedy/Contemporary Romance
Release Date: April 30, 2019
Blurb
An all-new STANDALONE from New York Times bestselling author Julia Kent

It all started with the wrong Help Wanted ad. Of course it did.

I’m a professional fluffer. It’s NOT what you think. I stage homes for a
living. Real estate agents love me, and my work stands on its own merits.

Sigh. Get your mind out of the gutter. Go ahead. Laugh. I’ll wait.

See? That’s the problem. My career has used the term “fluffer” for
decades. I didn’t even know there was a more… lascivious definition of the
term.

Until it was too late.

The ad for a “professional fluffer” on Craigslist seemed like divine
intervention. My last unemployment check was in the bank. I was desperate. Rent
was due. The ad said cash paid at the end of the day.

The perfect job!

Staging homes means showing your best angle. The same principle applies
in making a certain kind of movie. Turns out a “fluffer” doesn’t arrange
decorative pillows on a couch.

They arrange other soft, round-ish objects.

The job isn’t hard. Er, I mean, it is — it’s about being hard. Or, well…
helping other people to be hard.

Oh, man…

And that’s the other problem. A man. No, not one of the stars on the
movie set. Will Lotham – my high school crush. The owner of the house where
we’re filming. Illegally. In a vacation rental.

By the time the cops show up, what I thought was just a great house
staging gig turned into a nightmare involving pictures of me with a naked star,
Will rescuing me from an arrest, and a humiliating lesson in my own naivete.

My job turned out to be so much harder than I expected. But you know
what’s easier than I ever imagined?

Having all my dreams come true.
Purchase Links
Excerpt
“I can’t
tonight. I have a date,” I blurt out, remembering David. The dating app. The
asshole who isn’t an asshole.

Yet. I
haven’t met him, so that judgment remains withheld.

“A date?”
Will asks, intrigued.

“Yes. A
date. You know, that thing where you go out with someone who has no intention
of really getting to know you and you spend the entire time eating bread that
doesn’t taste as good as your date claims and trying to decide whether to
initiate rescue-text sequences with your mom.”

“That’s
your idea of a date?”

“That is my
actual experience of every date I’ve had since college.”

“You’re
dating the wrong guys.” He holds my gaze for just a little too long. I look
away.

“I have to
keep fishing in the pond if I ever want to catch a different one.”

“If that’s
the way you talk to your dates, I am beginning to understand why they all turn
out so badly.”

“Hey!”

“What?”

“Don’t
accuse me of being a bad date. I’m a great date! I Google the guy in advance
and read his LinkedIn profile. I make sure I don’t wear super-tall heels in
case he lied about his height on his dating profile. I pretend to care about
all his hobbies and don’t reveal that I’m secretly tallying all the
micro-aggressions he’s sending my way during appetizers and wine. And if he
makes it to dessert, well–” I falter.

“You never make
it to dessert, do you?” Will asks, eyebrows up. He drops them quickly, wincing.

“I–well–it’s
not that I don’t. He doesn’t!”

“He ditches
you?”

“No! No!
It’s just that he always has a thing.”

“A thing?”

“A work
emergency. Or a dog with a twisted bowel. Or a grandma in the ER.”

“How many
guys used the twisted-canine-intestine thing?”

“Three.” I
sit down and sag against his teenage desk, elbows sliding forward, fingers deep
in my hair. “I looked it up. There’s an entire subreddit devoted to inventive
ways to get out of a bad date.”

“And yet
here you are.” He leans against the edge of his desk. “Trying again.”

“I’m a
masochist.”

His eyes
gleam. “Maybe you should start your dates with that line. ‘Hi. I’m Mallory
Monahan. I’m a masochist.’ You’d definitely make it to dessert.”
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.
Author Links
WEBSITE

FACEBOOK

TWITTER

NEWSLETTER

INSTAGRAM

BOOKBUB

GOODREADS

AMAZON

New Release – Fluffy by Julia Kent

Title: Fluffy
Author: Julia Kent
Genre: Romantic Comedy/Contemporary Romance
Release Date: April 30, 2019
Blurb
An all-new STANDALONE from New York Times bestselling author Julia Kent

It all started with the wrong Help Wanted ad. Of course it did.

I’m a professional fluffer. It’s NOT what you think. I stage homes for a
living. Real estate agents love me, and my work stands on its own merits.

Sigh. Get your mind out of the gutter. Go ahead. Laugh. I’ll wait.

See? That’s the problem. My career has used the term “fluffer” for
decades. I didn’t even know there was a more… lascivious definition of the
term.

Until it was too late.

The ad for a “professional fluffer” on Craigslist seemed like divine
intervention. My last unemployment check was in the bank. I was desperate. Rent
was due. The ad said cash paid at the end of the day.

The perfect job!

Staging homes means showing your best angle. The same principle applies
in making a certain kind of movie. Turns out a “fluffer” doesn’t arrange
decorative pillows on a couch.

They arrange other soft, round-ish objects.

The job isn’t hard. Er, I mean, it is — it’s about being hard. Or, well…
helping other people to be hard.

Oh, man…

And that’s the other problem. A man. No, not one of the stars on the
movie set. Will Lotham – my high school crush. The owner of the house where
we’re filming. Illegally. In a vacation rental.

By the time the cops show up, what I thought was just a great house
staging gig turned into a nightmare involving pictures of me with a naked star,
Will rescuing me from an arrest, and a humiliating lesson in my own naivete.

My job turned out to be so much harder than I expected. But you know
what’s easier than I ever imagined?

Having all my dreams come true.
Purchase Links
Excerpt
“I can’t
tonight. I have a date,” I blurt out, remembering David. The dating app. The
asshole who isn’t an asshole.

Yet. I
haven’t met him, so that judgment remains withheld.

“A date?”
Will asks, intrigued.

“Yes. A
date. You know, that thing where you go out with someone who has no intention
of really getting to know you and you spend the entire time eating bread that
doesn’t taste as good as your date claims and trying to decide whether to
initiate rescue-text sequences with your mom.”

“That’s
your idea of a date?”

“That is my
actual experience of every date I’ve had since college.”

“You’re
dating the wrong guys.” He holds my gaze for just a little too long. I look
away.

“I have to
keep fishing in the pond if I ever want to catch a different one.”

“If that’s
the way you talk to your dates, I am beginning to understand why they all turn
out so badly.”

“Hey!”

“What?”

“Don’t
accuse me of being a bad date. I’m a great date! I Google the guy in advance
and read his LinkedIn profile. I make sure I don’t wear super-tall heels in
case he lied about his height on his dating profile. I pretend to care about
all his hobbies and don’t reveal that I’m secretly tallying all the
micro-aggressions he’s sending my way during appetizers and wine. And if he
makes it to dessert, well–” I falter.

“You never make
it to dessert, do you?” Will asks, eyebrows up. He drops them quickly, wincing.

“I–well–it’s
not that I don’t. He doesn’t!”

“He ditches
you?”

“No! No!
It’s just that he always has a thing.”

“A thing?”

“A work
emergency. Or a dog with a twisted bowel. Or a grandma in the ER.”

“How many
guys used the twisted-canine-intestine thing?”

“Three.” I
sit down and sag against his teenage desk, elbows sliding forward, fingers deep
in my hair. “I looked it up. There’s an entire subreddit devoted to inventive
ways to get out of a bad date.”

“And yet
here you are.” He leans against the edge of his desk. “Trying again.”

“I’m a
masochist.”

His eyes
gleam. “Maybe you should start your dates with that line. ‘Hi. I’m Mallory
Monahan. I’m a masochist.’ You’d definitely make it to dessert.”
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.
Author Links
WEBSITE

FACEBOOK

TWITTER

NEWSLETTER

INSTAGRAM

BOOKBUB

GOODREADS

AMAZON

SALE BLITZ ● Shopping for a Billionaire’s Baby: Shopping for a Billionaire Series Book #13 ● by Julia Kent

SALE BLITZ

Title: Shopping for a Billionaire’s Baby
Series: Shopping for a Billionaire #13
Author: Julia Kent
Genre: Romantic Comedy
Release Date: April 24, 2018

BLURB

You know what’s even better than marrying a billionaire? Having his baby.

We’re ready. We’ve studied and planned, read all the birth and labor books, researched parenting classes, consulted our schedules, and it’s time.

And by we I mean me.

Declan’s just ready for the “have lots of sex” part. More than ready.

But there’s just one problem: my husband and his brother have this little obsession with competition.

And by little, I mean stupid.

That’s right.

We’re not just about to try to bring a new human being into the world.

We have to do it better, Faster, Stronger.

Harder.

McCormick men don’t just have babies.

They engage in competitive billionaire Babythons.

I thought the hardest part about getting pregnant would be dealing with my grandchild-crazed mother, who will go nuts shopping for a billionaire’s baby.

Wrong.

Between conception issues, my mother’s desire to talk to the baby through a hoo-haw cam, a childbirth class led by a drill sergeant and a father-in-law determined to sign the kid up for prep school before Declan even pulls out, my pregnancy has turned out to be one ordeal after the other.

But it’s nothing — nothing — compared to the actual birth.

Shopping for a Billionaire’s Baby is the newest book in Julia Kent’s New York Times bestselling romantic comedy series and is a 400+ page full-length novel.

GOODREADS LINK

https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/36433312-shopping-for-a-billionaire-s-baby

BOOKBUB LINK

https://www.bookbub.com/books/shopping-for-a-billionaire-s-baby-by-julia-kent

PURCHASE LINKS

99c for a limited time!!

US: https://amzn.to/2tT7fz8
UK: https://amzn.to/2TBucp2
CA: https://amzn.to/2SM6eD7
AU: https://amzn.to/2CamsAu
B&N: http://bit.ly/2EI8qXa
Kobo: http://bit.ly/2TDoiDP
Apple Books: https://apple.co/2VKZKGp
Google Play: http://bit.ly/2IXHOXr

AUDIOBOOK LINKS

Amazon: https://amzn.to/2NZVHDz
Audible: https://adbl.co/2IYGjII
iTunes: https://apple.co/2H5BfjR
B&N: http://bit.ly/2ETdNE8
Google Play: http://bit.ly/2XHoK36
Kobo Audio: http://bit.ly/2Ho6iXx
Author: http://bit.ly/2tV0igY

EXCERPTS

#1

“This conception stuff has you thinking. Philosophically, I mean,” Andrew notes, suddenly paying close attention to me.

“Of course. It’s powerful.”

“How? It’s just sex.”

I snort. “I thought so, too. Until I had sex where I tried to get her pregnant on purpose.”

Vince, Gerald, and Andrew all take a step closer to me.

“Bareback,” Vince whispers, like the word itself is holy.

#2

“When you’re shooting your sperm into her and you have a goal. Does it aim better? Do the sperm just know it’s a free-for-all and they’re going for it?” Calculation gleams in my brother’s eyes. He’s not asking because he gives a shit about my emotional state.

He’s analyzing data for future victory.

“How the hell would I know? It’s not like I strap a GoPro to my nuts and videotape it. It isn’t an episode of Ninja Sperm Warrior.”

#3

I want him in me.

Here.

I want his baby in me.

Now.

#4

“Maybe you’ve made life too good for me,” I tell him, grasping at the right words to describe the feelings inside me. “I think this is your fault.”

“For giving you too good a life?”

“For loving me so well. I can’t imagine it being even better.”

#5

“Bye, Shannon. See you in three minutes.” His eyes drop to the pregnancy test in my hand as he shuts the door.

I prepare to pee alone.

Or… maybe I’m not alone.

I’ll find out in three minutes.

#6

Taking a pregnancy test is basically peeing on a stick. It’s not rocket science. You don’t need a degree in chemistry. You pull down your pants, sit on the toilet, and aim your stream at a little felt absorbent strip that performs some biochemical magic and in the end determines the course of the rest of your life.

Not bad for an $11 box you can buy at any convenience store when picking up lottery tickets and a forty of beer in a brown paper bag.

#7

First morning urine is precious cargo. My Kegel muscles kick in and I halt midstream, panicking, my wet thighs making me slip slightly forward on the toilet seat, and–

I drop the test into the toilet.

“DAMN!” I scream. My vaginal wall muscles are clamped down like the Hoover Dam holding back an unexpected early thaw, and I involuntarily shake the urine off my hand, flinging droplets all over the rest of me. I jump up, turn around, and try to retrieve the ruined test.

Just then, a whuff of cold air assaults my bare ass. Declan has apparently opened the bathroom door.

“What’s wrong? I heard you scream. Are you…” His voice trails off as I look at him, hand in the toilet, naked ass on display, single-handedly proving that taking a pregnancy test is, in fact, rocket science after all.

“We have got to stop meeting like this,” he says softly, closing the door before bursting into laughter.

Now I know why they sell pregnancy tests in packages of two.

#8

“Those two are the only men in the world who could invent a babython!” I fume.

“What is a babython?”

“They’re like triathlons, only the swimming portion involves sperm, and running involves basal thermometers and temperatures telling you it’s fertile time. And instead of competing with your husband to see who finishes first–ahem–it’s all about beating your brother-in-law.”

“Excuse me?”

“Yeah. I don’t understand it, either.”

#9

“Just because other people can’t get their act together as parents doesn’t mean we can’t,” I explain. “There is no process that can’t be project managed into a well-oiled machine, babies included.”

Andrew snorts. “You really believe that.”

“A baby is like a disruptive new technology. But our first deliverable is still eight months to a year away. That leaves us plenty of time to update our practices and diversify into new areas. Find the best people, incentivize them, and keep them in their swim lanes.”

I’m getting major raised eyebrows here.

“Optimization protocols, testing, fine tuning, and putting together the right team is all it takes. Drill down to the essentials, find people who are the absolute best at what we need, and that’s it–we build a life based on optimal outcomes.”

“You sound like you’re making a robotic dog, Dec. Not a human.”

“This baby will have a hands-on father. Plenty of love. And with a mother like Shannon, how could we go wrong?” Mother. Calling Shannon a mother does something to my gut. A tug, hard and emotional, destabilizes me for a second.

#10

The pregnancy test is like my mother. It’s always there, waiting to pass judgment. Sometimes it tells you what you want to hear.

And sometimes you want to hurl it into the trash and pretend it doesn’t exist.

#11

Every waking moment of my existence feels like I live in a post-apocalyptic dystopian world called Nausealand District 40. In this society, everyone is deeply sick to their stomach, and the battle between good and evil hinges on the ability to consume just enough calories to maintain the life force that keeps the universe going:

The Placenta Quadrant.

#12

Wrapped in a red bathrobe with white and green tassels all over the cuffs and pockets, Shannon comes into the kitchen and gives me a cheek kiss just as I start the coffee machine for our first cup of coffee on Christmas day. “We have wood, right?” she asks.

I look down at my pajama bottoms. “Sure do.”

“I meant real wood.”

I point. “What do you call this?”

“You want me to stack that with kindling and newspaper and set it on fire?”

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.

AUTHOR LINKS

Website: http://www.jkentauthor.com
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/jkentauthor
Twitter: https://twitter.com/jkentauthor

PRE-ORDER NOW!!! Fluffy by Julia Kent is releasing April 30!!!

PRE-ORDER NOW!!! Fluffy by Julia Kent is releasing April 30!!!

A book full of witty banter, hilarious situations, chemistry, friends, and love!” – Goodreads reviewer

US: https://amzn.to/2TlLHq4
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CA: https://amzn.to/2CTYGbq
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B&N: http://bit.ly/2DHqWQj
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Apple Books: https://apple.co/2sXc7D7

Google Play: http://bit.ly/2sVxlkC

Add to your Goodreads TBR http://bit.ly/2IBNwhv

An all-new STANDALONE from New York Times bestselling author Julia Kent

It all started with the wrong Help Wanted ad. Of course it did.

I’m a professional fluffer. It’s NOT what you think. I stage homes for a living. Real estate agents love me, and my work stands on its own merits.

Sigh. Get your mind out of the gutter. Go ahead. Laugh. I’ll wait.

See? That’s the problem. My career has used the term “fluffer” for decades. I didn’t even know there was a more… lascivious definition of the term.

Until it was too late.

The ad for a “professional fluffer” on Craigslist seemed like divine intervention. My last unemployment check was in the bank. I was desperate. Rent was due. The ad said cash paid at the end of the day.

The perfect job!

Staging homes means showing your best angle. The same principle applies in making a certain kind of movie. Turns out a “fluffer” doesn’t arrange decorative pillows on a couch.

They arrange other soft, round-ish objects.

The job isn’t hard. Er, I mean, it is — it’s about being hard. Or, well… helping other people to be hard.

Oh, man…

And that’s the other problem. A man. No, not one of the stars on the movie set. Will Lotham – my high school crush. The owner of the house where we’re filming. Illegally. In a vacation rental.

By the time the cops show up, what I thought was just a great house staging gig turned into a nightmare involving pictures of me with a naked star, Will rescuing me from an arrest, and a humiliating lesson in my own naivete.

My job turned out to be so much harder than I expected. But you know what’s easier than I ever imagined?

Having all my dreams come true.

02/06/2019 SALE BLITZ – Our Options Have Changed by Julia Kent & Elisa Reed

SALE BLITZ

Title: Our Options Have Changed
Author: Julia Kent & Elisa Reed
Genre: Romantic Comedy/Contemporary Romance
Release Date: October 5, 2016

BLURB:

Having it all is a fantasy, right?

Chloe Browne knows all about fantasy. Fantasy is her job.

And she’s very, very good at what she does.

As director of design for the O Spa chain, a sophisticated women’s club that is trending its way into being the Next Big Thing, Chloe’s ready to take on the world.

One baby at a time.

Her home study’s done, and she’s about to adopt, a thirty-something single mother by choice. Who needs to put her life on hold for the right guy when the right baby is waiting for her?

Besides, talk about fantasy.

The right guy?

Pfft. Right.

And then in walks Nick Grafton, with those commanding sapphire eyes and wavy blonde hair and a sophisticated mouth that only smiles for her.

He’s perfect.

But the last thing Nick wants is to start fresh with a new baby as his college-age kids fly the coop. A single father for more than fifteen years after his wife walked out on her family, Nick finally tastes freedom.

But he likes the taste of Chloe more.

* * *

Our Options Have Changed is a full-length standalone contemporary romance, the first in the On Hold series by New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Julia Kent and journalist-turned-fiction-writer Elisa Reed. It is a loose spinoff from Julia Kent’s Shopping for a Billionaire series, with cameo appearances from favorite characters.

GOODREADS LINK:

https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/31298294-our-options-have-changed

VIEW ON BOOKBUB:

https://www.bookbub.com/books/our-options-have-changed-by-julia-kent-and-elisa-reed

PURCHASE LINKS:

FREE for a limited time!!

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B&N: http://bit.ly/2b24Ol8
Kobo: http://bit.ly/2bnRf1K
Apple Books: http://apple.co/2b0fHR6
Google Play: http://bit.ly/2nK6QfY

EXCERPTS:

#1

O is a twenty-first century club for sophisticated women. A fourth space for women of a discerning taste.
Home is the first space. Work is the second space. Third spaces are locations like coffee shops and malls.
O is the fourth space. The space where you can arrive. Rest. Relax. Indulge. Be someone you can’t be in the other three spaces.
Based on our membership rates, we’re onto something. Our investors are, shall we say, pleased.
O does have a public presence, thanks to our retail environments. In Boston, Chicago, San Francisco, and soon in New Orleans, sophisticated consumers can spend hours—and hundreds of dollars—browsing our selection of “elegant accessories for intimate pleasure.”
That’s right—sex toys. That’s what the masses call them. Except at O, we cater to a clientele that doesn’t want to be one of the hoi polloi. They want to be unique. In the know. Enlightened and cosmopolitan on the surface.
But a wildcat down…below.
Which makes a Grade C unacceptable. No one wants to be average.
Especially down below.

#2

“Chloe, I’m Nick Grafton. I handle branding for Anterdec properties. It’s critically important for a new brand like O to carry the same recognizable image throughout all locations. Can you tell us a bit more about how your design will do this while at the same time bringing in the unique atmosphere of New Orleans?”
Even seated, I can tell he’s a tall man. All the time I spend with seven-foot-tall Henry has skewed my perspective a bit, but Nick must be over six feet. His hair is thick and a little on the long side for a corporate guy, light brown with a hint of silver. I admit it: I have a total weakness for long hair. Not man buns, but a little over the collar… something to grab and maybe pull at intimate times…
Ice blue eyes.
But what really gets my attention is his dark navy blue suit. Crisp shirt. Cotton madras plaid tie. When you spend every work day surrounded by mostly naked men, a fully-dressed guy gets your attention.
Sexy. Makes you wonder what’s underneath.
Not that I’m objectifying him. Ahem.
Did he say his last name is Grafton? My turn to look closely at him. My first boyfriend—we’re talking age fifteen here—was Charlie Grafton. Not an unusual last name, though, right?
His question is easy, really. I answer, he thanks me, no one else has a question.
I signal Carrie to lower the room lights. Showtime.
“O is never ordinary,” I begin. “We’ve created another O for you, and I think it’s our most exciting space yet.” The faces around the table are mildly surprised, not expecting anything else from me.
I click a button to lower the screen and another to start the slideshow.
“This is our first gO Spa.” I flash to a picture of a full-size RV. “This vehicle could be the beginning of a fleet. In every city where O has a presence, the gO Spa can go beyond the physical location. The gO Spa can be booked for private parties and weddings. It can travel to concert venues and theaters for services to big-name performers.”
The next slide is an interior view of the gO Spa. Three small showers. A bank of four hair washing and styling stations. Small closets filled with curated professional clothing.
“But it has another important purpose. The gO Spa is how O will give back to the communities that have welcomed us and made our success possible. A way to demonstrate our commitment to the idea that peace and pleasure are vital to everyone.”
Nick Grafton is giving me his full attention. I like it. I could get used to it.

#3

When my alarm goes off at six a.m., I know it’s time to get up. My meeting with Nick Grafton is today. I’ve been awake since four, when I woke to find Mink covering my face, fur tickling my nose.
Mink. My living, purring fur coat. My cat.
I tried so hard to hold on to sleep, blissful unconsciousness. General anesthesia.
My brain, however, wanted to watch a slideshow:
The mystery shop report. Who highlighted all those pages?
Me, at the market, shopping for treats for Joe.
Me, in the ladies’ room, primping a treat for Joe.
Joe, getting treated. By someone else.
I have read that it’s essentially impossible to think of nothing, but I tried. I visualized grey. The O shade.
Quite right. Impossible. I started running through the alphabet backwards.
Z Y X… W… not as easy as you would think, right?
…P O…
N… Nick Grafton in my office doorway, somehow familiar. Starched white shirt. The scent of Bay Rhum when he caught me. If masculine has a scent, it’s Bay Rhum.
…M L K…
J… Joe, red-faced and drunk, Nick’s arm around his neck. Pathetic. I wish I could un-see this.
…D C…
B… Baby. Baby coming soon. Life will change, forever. Am I ready? I think so. But is anyone ever ready? Maybe I’m too ready—what if Li changes her mind? Should I buy diapers, baby clothes, a crib? Would I be tempting fate? So far I just have an infant car seat. If this doesn’t happen, I can just put it in the closet. Way far back in the closet where I can’t see it.
Li is so young. Old enough to get pregnant but far too young to be a mother. In so many ways, she’s really still a baby herself. She’s been forced into a situation with no possible happy ending—at least not for her. Her tragedy will make my dream come true. Can I help make some of her dreams come true in return? She wants to be an esthetician, told me the day I met her on the gO Spa. Can I find a scholarship for her? Create one?
A… Anterdec. Meeting today with Nick Grafton. Okay. This is better. This I can handle. What to wear?
I am representing O. I visualize grey again. Dove grey suit of raw silk, seamed to fit my body perfectly, never too tight or too loose. High heels, but not too spiky. And most importantly, a necklace of glass Os, linked together with silver.
And for today’s secret power, rose silk cheeky panties that lace up the back. Matching bustier. Grey thigh highs in fine mesh.
On the outside, chic and understated. Underneath, intimate pleasure.
I am O.

AUTHOR BIOS AND LINKS:

JULIA KENT

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.

Website: http://jkentauthor.com
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/jkentauthor
Twitter: https://twitter.com/jkentauthor

ELISA REED

Elisa Reed is a journalist-turned-fiction-writer whose snappy, irreverent prose combines with an irrepressible zest for the simpler, and often intimate, pleasures of life to produce fun(ny) contemporary romance with a focus on second chances. New England born and bred, Elisa Reed now lives, writes, and plays in New Orleans and along the sugar sands of the Gulf Coast.

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/elisareedauthor

COVER REVEAL – Fluffy by Julia Kent

COVER REVEAL
Title: Fluffy
Author: Julia Kent
Genre: Romantic Comedy/Contemporary Romance
Cover Design: Hang Le
Release Date: April 30, 2019

BLURB:

An all-new STANDALONE from New York Times bestselling author Julia Kent

It all started with the wrong Help Wanted ad. Of course it did.
I’m a professional fluffer. It’s NOT what you think. I stage homes for a living. Real estate agents love me, and my work stands on its own merits.
Sigh. Get your mind out of the gutter. Go ahead. Laugh. I’ll wait.
See? That’s the problem. My career has used the term “fluffer” for decades. I didn’t even know there was a more… lascivious definition of the term.
Until it was too late.
The ad for a “professional fluffer” on Craigslist seemed like divine intervention. My last unemployment check was in the bank. I was desperate. Rent was due. The ad said cash paid at the end of the day.
The perfect job!
Staging homes means showing your best angle. The same principle applies in making a certain kind of movie. Turns out a “fluffer” doesn’t arrange decorative pillows on a couch.
They arrange other soft, round-ish objects.
The job isn’t hard. Er, I mean, it is — it’s about being hard. Or, well… helping other people to be hard.
Oh, man…
And that’s the other problem. A man. No, not one of the stars on the movie set. Will Lotham – my high school crush. The owner of the house where we’re filming. Illegally. In a vacation rental.
By the time the cops show up, what I thought was just a great house staging gig turned into a nightmare involving pictures of me with a naked star, Will rescuing me from an arrest, and a humiliating lesson in my own naivete.
My job turned out to be so much harder than I expected. But you know what’s easier than I ever imagined?
Having all my dreams come true.

GOODREADS LINK:

https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/43561153-fluffy

VIEW ON BOOKBUB:

https://www.bookbub.com/books/fluffy-by-julia-kent

PRE-ORDER LINKS:

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Google Play: http://bit.ly/2sVxlkC

EXCERPTS:

#1

“Do you use the proper terms for everything, Mallory?” He makes an inarticulate sound as I peel the gauze off the cut, wiping gently. “You call your pretty place a vulva, right? And you use the word vagina.”

“’Pretty place’?”

He shrugs.

“And yes, I do. Vulva and vagina. And then there’s the clitoris,” I say primly.

“What’s that?”

“What’s what?”

“A clitoris. Never heard of it.”

I freeze and look down at him. Bright eyes meet mine. Is he serious?

“The clitoris is a nerve cluster above the opening to the vagina,” I begin, taking a breath to continue my impromptu human sexuality lecture, because when a man tells you they don’t know what a clitoris is, you educate them immediately.

For the sisterhood. All the women Will is going to sleep with from here on out will thank me later.

He starts to laugh. I’m so tempted to pour the small bottle of isopropyl alcohol directly on his wound, but I’m a kind, compassionate woman, so instead I dab it on with a swab.

“OW!” he bellows.

“Sorry.”

“You’re not sorry at all.”

“I’m sorry for your sex partners that you have no idea what a clitoris is, Will.”

“I know what it is. And my tongue knows how to find one. Blindfolded.”

“Why would you blindfold your tongue?”

#2

“I can’t tonight. I have a date,” I blurt out, remembering David. The dating app. The asshole who isn’t an asshole.

Yet. I haven’t met him, so that judgment remains withheld.

“A date?” Will asks, intrigued.

“Yes. A date. You know, that thing where you go out with someone who has no intention of really getting to know you and you spend the entire time eating bread that doesn’t taste as good as your date claims and trying to decide whether to initiate rescue-text sequences with your mom.”

“That’s your idea of a date?”

“That is my actual experience of every date I’ve had since college.”

“You’re dating the wrong guys.” He holds my gaze for just a little too long. I look away.

“I have to keep fishing in the pond if I ever want to catch a different one.”

“If that’s the way you talk to your dates, I am beginning to understand why they all turn out so badly.”

“Hey!”

“What?”

“Don’t accuse me of being a bad date. I’m a great date! I Google the guy in advance and read his LinkedIn profile. I make sure I don’t wear super-tall heels in case he lied about his height on his dating profile. I pretend to care about all his hobbies and don’t reveal that I’m secretly tallying all the micro-aggressions he’s sending my way during appetizers and wine. And if he makes it to dessert, well–” I falter.

“You never make it to dessert, do you?” Will asks, eyebrows up. He drops them quickly, wincing.

“I–well–it’s not that I don’t. He doesn’t!”

“He ditches you?”

“No! No! It’s just that he always has a thing.”

“A thing?”

“A work emergency. Or a dog with a twisted bowel. Or a grandma in the ER.”

“How many guys used the twisted-canine-intestine thing?”

“Three.” I sit down and sag against his teenage desk, elbows sliding forward, fingers deep in my hair. “I looked it up. There’s an entire subreddit devoted to inventive ways to get out of a bad date.”

“And yet here you are.” He leans against the edge of his desk. “Trying again.”

“I’m a masochist.”

His eyes gleam. “Maybe you should start your dates with that line. ‘Hi. I’m Mallory Monahan. I’m a masochist.’ You’d definitely make it to dessert.”

#3

“You’re changing the subject.”

“How do you know that’s what I’m doing?”

“Because you have this thing you do when you get nervous. You did it in high school and you’re doing it now.”

“What’s that?”

“You start cracking your knuckles. One by one.”

He halts mid-crack on his ring finger. His bare ring finger.

Will looks down. A slow smile pulls at his lips. “You’re right. I do.” Our eyes meet. “How did you know?”

“I sat behind you in nearly every honors class, Will. I’ve watched you answer countless questions from teachers. And every time you didn’t know the answer, you cracked your knuckles. One”–I crack my index finger–“by”–I crack my middle finger–“one.” My ring finger won’t snap.

He waits.

“You spent a lot of time paying attention to me, Mallory.”

“I sat behind you. It’s not like I could stare at your ass all day. I had to have something else to look at.”

“You stared at my ass?”

“It was two feet in front of me! Four classes a day!” I start to sweat. The memory of him in football uniform pants. Oh, sweet ice cream fairy, deliver me from evil.

“You okay? You look,” he says, stepping closer, “a little disturbed.”

“I’m fine.”

“Hot, even.” The rise and fall of his chest pauses after those words, as if he’s holding his breath, too.

#4

I watch a blonde woman talk up Will like she wants to take him home and turn him into her evening protein shake. She’s wearing lululemon tights and Jimmy Choos, an unusual combination that seems to indicate she’s ready for anything.

Clap clap! A man in a tight, black Lycra shirt, grey fitted slacks, and the most beautiful Italian leather shoes I have ever seen glides like melting cheese on a raclette into the center of the ballroom.

“Hello, hello! My name is Philippe, and I am your instructor tonight. Welcome! Two more minutes for refreshments, and then we DANCE!” The word DANCE comes out of his mouth in capital letters.

Philippe heads straight toward me, eyes meeting mine, his dark, wavy hair slicked off his face with curls escaping at the nape of the neck, a perfectly manscaped moustache adding to his rakish look.

“And you are?” he asks, the words a demand to reveal my soul.

“Uh, Mallory.”

“Uh, Mallory, it is nice to meet you.”

“It’s just Mallory.”

“Are you Uh, Mallory, or Just Mallory?” he asks, mouth pursing with amusement.

I cannot tell whether I like him or hate him.

“Mallory.”

Eyeing me up and down, his expression changes to approval when he sees my shoes. “You have come prepared.”

Will chooses that exact moment to walk over, a lemonade in each hand, and offer me one. I smile a thank you as Philippe watches us like he’s judging a couple on So You Think You Can Dance.

“You are here together?” he asks.

“OH, NO!” I call out, as if it’s the word DANCE. “I’m waiting for my date.”

“Date?”

“First date, actually. I don’t know what he looks like, but…”

“Was his name David, by any chance?” Philippe asks, mouth twisted with disgust.

“Yes!”

“Corporate,” he hisses. “Again!”

Will exchanges a confused look with me, then takes a sip of his lemonade, choosing to stay out of this. One hand goes to his hip as he politely looks away, drinking like it’s his job.

“Excuse me?” I ask Philippe.

“Did you meet him–this David–on an online dating service?”

“Yes.”

Philippe takes my hand as if I’m a mourning widow at her beloved husband’s wake. “Then I am sorry to inform you, Mallory, that David is not coming.”

“Why not?”

“Because David is a salesman.”

“No, he’s not! He’s a conversion consultant.”

Will’s mouth tightens as if he knows something.

“Mallory,” Philippe says sadly, “David works for the corporation that owns Bailargo. He is one of their best salesmen.” Anger flashes in his eyes. “Because he toys with women’s emotions and sets them up for this.”

“This?”

Gesturing at me, he says, “This. You. The poor, lonely single woman looking for love on apps.”

“HEY!”

“Watch,” he says, clapping twice again. “Are any women here for a date with David? First date?”

Two hands go up.

“Oh, God,” I mutter, my hands flying to cover my burning hot, deeply embarrassed face. “What does this mean?”

“David has developed a new technique. He goes to dating apps and pretends to be original, asking women to have a first date at a dance lesson. He is charming and funny and–”

A feral sound comes out of my mouth.

“Sound familiar?” Will asks, reaching up to run a hand through his hair, looking really sympathetic on my behalf.

Which makes me feel even stupider.

“And then the women come here, there is no David, but some of them stay for class,” Philippe finishes.

“You’re telling me your corporate headquarters is hiring a guy who goes on dating sites and convinces single women to come to a dance class with him, then ghosts on them? On the chance that a certain percentage of us will sign up for dance lessons and convert to paying customers?” My voice goes higher and higher, until I start sounding like Mariah Carey the second everyone finishes Thanksgiving dinner and it’s time for her songs to start on the radio again.

“Yes.”

“That’s horrible!” I cry.

“That’s ingenious,” Will says. My glare makes him add quickly, “And completely unethical, of course. Some men are disgusting pigs.” His brow drops, eyes troubled with vicarious empathy, but they move in patterns that tell me he’s processing this information and finds David’s business acumen to be worthy of note.

“If you will excuse me, I need to find some tissues for those two women who are, like you, expecting a date with the charming David. Since he started doing this four months ago, sales have increased eleven percent, but my operating supplies have gone up 286 percent with all the tissues!” Philippe glides across the floor and approaches the two women, who are whispering and comparing phone screens.

Bet mine makes us triplets.

#5

“It is time to DANCE! Find a partner and hold each other’s hands, facing one another.”

Five women start walking toward Will.

“Mal?” Shyness infuses his question, sending chills up and down my arms and legs. They settle at the base of my neck, riding shotgun next to the arousal centers of my nervous system. He’s adorable, one hand out to me, eyebrows slightly up, blue-green eyes asking to dance with me but hinting at more.

Or… am I inventing that part?

“Sure,” I say, instantly regretting my answer. Does it sound grudging? He doesn’t seem to think so as I take his hand and stand before him, tall in my high heels but he’s even taller. Looking at him from this height makes him even more human, more masculine, more real.

My heart skips a beat.

But the music sure doesn’t.

“Now, the ‘man,’” Philippe starts, using finger quotes because there are several female-only couples in the class, “puts one hand on the woman’s waist. The right hand.”

Will complies.

It’s like sticking my finger in a light socket and orgasming at the same time.

His left hand takes my right hand and he holds it, strong and firm, smiling at me with a boyish grin that makes me feel instant remorse for hurting him today.

“I’m sorry I bashed your head in,” I whisper, moving near his ear, our mouths inches apart.

There is a gap between us. My lungs live there, in that space. They breathe. I don’t make a move. My autonomic nervous system works without intention. If it didn’t, I’d die.

Because I would hold my breath forever in Will’s arms.

Philippe is moving from couple to couple, adjusting positions, commenting and correcting.

“Closer,” Philippe says right behind me, the press of his firm palm against my lower back a shock as he pushes me into Will, closing that gap.

My autonomic nervous system gives up entirely.

“Look into each other’s eyes,” Philippe commands, his accent making this even sexier. “When you dance, you show your love with your hips, your eyes, your languid grace. You are making love in public with your bodies, fully clothed.”

Is Will holding his breath, too?

“Your hand goes here, Mallory,” the teacher says, taking my left hand and putting it on Will’s shoulder. My breasts brush against his chest, our breathing ragged. I try to look away, but we’re too close. All I can do is look at his eyes or his mouth, and right now, both are so, so dangerous.

No one else in the room exists. The light that bounces off the polished floors is ours. The murmurs and giggles in the background are ours. The way he breathes my air and I inhale him is ours, too. We’re touching, my thigh against his, and every warm part of Will Lotham’s front half that is decent to display in public is rubbing against me.

Except his lips.

“Now, take one step forward,” Philippe says. “Together.”

Will steps on my foot. Hard.

I make a very unfeminine sound and start to pitch backwards. Tightening his grip on my waist, his hand sliding, open and splayed, across the small of my back, he saves me from a complete wipeout.

But that save has its costs.

In an instant, all traces of that teenage girl in me are gone, disintegrating, turned to stardust that sweeps off me like a fine spring breeze. I am all woman now, mature and wanting.

All I want is this. Now. The man before me, his arms warm and assured, grasp confident and bold.

And very much wanting me back.

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.

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