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 vaginacam, 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 (Shopping for a Billionaire, #13) PDF

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