Her Superhero Lover

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Blurb:

A superhero, plus size, BWWM romance story.

Renee is barely making ends meet.

Working as a DJ and a part-time model hardly pays the bills in San Diego.

Yet her life’s pretty normal, lacking any real thrills… until Grady walks into it.

The billionaire is San Diego’s most sought-after bachelor, and he could be just what Renee’s life needs.

But there’s more to Grady than what meets the eye.

By day, he’s a bank owner and entrepreneur…

But when the sun goes down, he becomes the Horseman, a night-time vigilante!

Renee finds herself thrown into a world of excitement and danger that threatens to upheave everything she knows.

But will she able to find love in the midst of all this adventure?

Or will danger reach her first?

Discover now in this billionaire superhero romance novel by Lionel Law.

Chapter 1

Renee sighed as she listened to her agent talk. She’d heard all of it before, it didn’t really change.

“Renee, you know that while your face is a mover, the facts are simple. You’re short. No designer is going to hire a model that is five foot five. And you’re too heavy to be a pinup. The girls who are a hundred and forty pounds that pose for men’s magazines are all five eight or more, with about eight pounds of that being artificial t*ts. At your height, you need to have a tight body that says you can rock a guy’s di*k all night long with stamina.” Martin Clemmons was her agent, a retired model who had busted out as a photographer because he apparently had a better eye for making connections than he did for lighting, although he didn’t even have a great eye for that either, considering his office was in San Diego rather than Los Angeles or New York. Still, he was her agent, and tried to get her jobs.

On the other hand, he talked like a pig most of the time. Renee rolled her eyes. “Jesus Christ Martin, just because you’re gay doesn’t mean you get to talk like a total horndog. I got the message, you’ve been telling me ever since I came to you six years ago.”

Martin scowled and ran his hands through his stylishly coiffed hair. “Yes, and I keep telling you because you’re still young enough to make some serious money for both of us if you’d get your weight down. You’ve got one of the most hypnotic sets of eyes I’ve ever seen. I mean, you could get me to like women with eyes like yours. But, instead of working mainline shows or stuff, you’re stuck doing local spots and modeling eyeglasses for LensCrafters. You’re twenty four, Renee. That window of opportunity isn’t going to last much longer, especially for a darker skinned black woman like yourself.”

“I know, I know. Hey, you have any tea or coffee?” Renee was bleary eyed after having been up for the past twenty hours. “I had to work a show last night, and the club owner had me on set until two in the morning.”

“Sorry, no dice, just OJ. You know, it is the summer time. You’ve got all the UCSD and the San Diego State kids on vacation, and two ships just came back into port for the Navy, on top of the normal tourist trade. I’m surprised you actually have time for trying to find work with me at all. How is the DJ trade?”

“Better than modeling,” Renee admitted. “With the club lights low and me behind the tables, I’ve yet to have anyone call me fat like you do all the time.”

Martin spread his hands, not apologizing but also showing he meant no offense. “Honey, by model standards you are. I’m not talking if you’re able to pull di*k on the regular. You probably are getting more than I am.”

Keeping her thoughts on the matter to herself, Renee decided to change the subject. “So you said you had a job for me. What is it?”

“Sun Cliffs Credit Union is doing a new campaign, both magazine, newspaper and some TV spots. I know the photography director, he owes me a favor. Think you can be downtown tomorrow morning not looking like you just dragged yourself out of a club just before dawn?”

Renee sighed and rubbed her temples. “Yeah, I can do that. I’m clear for tonight anyway. For some reason, most of the clubs I play all have Mondays as Country night. No thanks.”

“I gotcha. Listen, go back to your place, get some shut eye, maybe catch a workout this afternoon, and sweat out a few pounds. Show up tomorrow at nine at this address,” Martin said, sliding over a page from his printer, “bright eyed, bushy tailed, and ready to act your ass off.”

On the way back to her apartment, Renee thought about the direction her life was heading. Martin was right, she was twenty four, and the modeling career was going nowhere. Sure, it made some decent side cash every once in a while, but she couldn’t see herself being in any national level magazines, and the idea of doing film work made her laugh. She knew Martin wouldn’t even be keeping her now, except that he too needed every client he could get.

Maybe it was time to jump full bore into her DJ career, she thought. She was good, she knew that. Starting by working just a few weddings and the occasional family reunion, she’d climbed the ladder, working high school dances, then the occasional small club. Now she had a few of the bigger clubs in San Diego booking her, and she’d even fielded the occasional call for a gig in the Los Angeles area. If she could break into the LA scene, she knew the sky was the limit. She also knew the music scene was fraught with dangers. Acts that could be hot one month were working the bar mitzvah circuit six months later. At least by staying in San Diego, she could establish a strong local presence that might not make her rich, but would put money in her pocket for a long time.

“Not that my pocket is very deep as it is,” she sighed, looking at her apartment building. Located in the City Heights neighborhood, it was a forty year old building with a pool that looked like it hadn’t been cleaned since Bill Clinton was president. On the other hand, it was just down the street from a bunch of little restaurants that were pretty cheap. Her favorite was a Mexican place that served barbacoa burritos that probably had more than a little to do with her weight issues.

She walked in and locked her door, tossing her bag onto her old couch, and considered what to do with the rest of the day. She knew she should be making calls, trying to book some more DJ slots, or maybe returning that call to the guy in Studio City who wanted to talk about her doing a music festival around Christmas time (honestly, who throws a dance party at Christmas?). However, sleep was more important, and she felt like a zombie. The rumpled sheets called to her, and she answered, heading towards her bedroom.