An accidental naked entanglement lands actress, Riley Glenn, in a fake off-screen romance with her obnoxious co-star, Maddox Winter. Their pretend engagement starts to feel like the only real thing in their cinematic lives… until their secret is revealed and threatens their relationship–on and off screen. Readers who love Claire Kingsley and Tessa Bailey will fall head-over-heels for Y’allywood Billionaire by Terra Weiss, a steamy, billionaire, celebrity, grumpy/sunshine, enemies-to-lovers, fake dating romantic comedy.
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Co-stars. Fake lovers. Real enemies.
I’ve landed my dream debut role on the TV crime series, Urban Dawn, but my co-star and on-screen beau, Maddox Winter, barely knows I exist. He’s too busy with his gold-digging arm candy—usually D-listers trying to make it in Y’allywood, Atlanta’s hot cinematic scene.
So what if he’s sexy as hell? I’m thrilled to see my name, Riley Glenn, at the top of the credits…even if the media has launched a smear campaign against me.
When an accidental naked entanglement lands Maddox and me on the cover of Love Buzz, the news spreads like norovirus on a cruise ship. With ratings skyrocketing, our director casts us into a faux relationship, and my wackadoodle godmother steps in to help out.
Sprinkling my gram's ashes in Scotland, I experience a new Maddox who brews my coffee and carries me through a field of cow pies. Oddly, our pretend relationship feels like the only real thing in our lives.
But when our secret drops, it could be the end of our act, on and off screen.
Y'allywood Billionaire is a witty, heartfelt stand-alone romcom mystery with adult language and steamy, open-door chemistry that will have you rooting for a happily-ever-after.
Excerpt
Copyright 2024 Terra Weiss
“Riley, 911 emergency.” It’s Skye, my best friend’s mother and my self-appointed godmother. Her voice booms through the car speakerphone when she says, “I’m texting you directions. You gotta come—I need you.”
“Wait…” I trail off, realizing the line’s dead. Is she really in trouble? That’s the thing about Skye—no one ever knows for sure. After calling her back countless times to no avail, I follow her directions to a remote beach. Why Skye’s here is anyone’s guess.
I park in a gravel lot next to Skye’s Winnebago and sprint toward the nearly desolate beach. At the gated entry, two women pushing eighty stand wearing oversized straw beach hats…and nothing else.
Oh. It’s one of those beaches. Good for them.
One steps in front of me and says, “Hello, miss, and welcome to St. Sebastian’s Nudist Haven. We encourage all our guests to express themselves as nature intended.”
I halt mid-stride. “I’m sorry?” I should’ve known there’d be a catch. There always is with Skye.
Curiosity tugs my eyes southward as I speak to the gentlewomen. “I’m only here to help a friend. She’s in trouble.” I go to dart through the gate, but they both move in for the block.
Folding her arms, the woman wearing a few dozen coats of hot pink lipstick speaks. “People who come here are comfortable in their own skin. You’ll upset our equilibrium if you go in with your body covered in shame.”
I groan. “Really?”
“Really.”
Good god. Now what? Skye’s not answering her phone, and she needs me. Or maybe she needs me? I’m arguing with myself when I see a beautiful form of a man in the parking lot. He has sun-kissed skin, the perfect black wavy hair, and a bod for days. He’s tall, chiseled—and currently stripping down to his birthday suit.
Then he throws his clothes in his car before pressing his key fob and locking it with a beep. As he approaches us with a swagger—or more of a lazy grace, really—my eyes roam downward before popping wide. The thing hanging between his legs is so enormous, it’s hard to process something that appears to defy physics. How does it not pull him downward?
Hmm. Maybe a naked beach isn’t so bad, after all.
As he gets closer, I realize that made-for-TV chest looks familiar—one I’ve seen a half a dozen times in wardrobe changes.
Oh, shit!
“Riley?” he says, shocked.
“Maddox?” I choke out. Instinctively, I cover my eyes, but peek through my fingers.
That elephant trunk belongs to my asshole co-star? And he just struts around, buck naked, like he owns the place?
I guess that one shouldn’t surprise me.
So many thoughts hit my brain like Nerf pellets. All those D-lister flings. I mean, no wonder. Do they talk about it? They have to, right? That thing is not normal! For some absurd reason, I’m shamelessly curious. No, no, no! I order my eyes to stop staring at his goods, but they won’t move. Now I understand why men ogle cleavage—sometimes the eyes refuse the brain’s instructions.
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Terra Weiss is a romcom author with a knack for witty banter and gift for capturing authentic family dynamics. Readers love how her stories steer away from typical romcom cookie-cutter formulas and show how real-life people find real-life love.
When Terra's not spilling the tea on what happens in the big and small towns that live in her heart, you'll find her with her spunky daughter, mad scientist husband, wacky and wonderful mother, and the two six-pound dogs that run her house. She enjoys jogging at a snail's pace, reading from her iPhone, and piling bright orange mountains of squeezy cheese on her crackers.
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