NOTE: The title was previously published as Under Covers. It has been heavily revised, with new scenes and a new ending.
Undercover reporter Libby Hoffman works for the sleaziest tabloid on the newsstand, promoting all the "news" that fits. She's reluctant to work on her latest assignment - exposing the shortcomings of a high-profile personality - but encouragement from her sexy colleague Marcella gets her in the mood...not necessary for the news.
When Libby discovers certain things are not what they seem, she realizes she's stumbled on more than mere Pulitzer material. Can she make headlines, or will her infatuation with Marcella stop the presses?
“Lib, wanna get some lunch?”
Her heart expanded and beat a rapid tattoo when the top of Marcella Grohl’s head peered over the top of their common partition. Aside from the much-needed paycheck, Marcella proved the only other benefit to working at the Spectator. Whenever she hurt for words to write, Libby often leaned back in her swivel chair and closed her eyes to contemplate. Articles ideas, however, quickly morphed into intimate fantasies starring her co-worker.
Marcella’s full face now came into view, and pale fingers gripped the ledge. Bee-stung lips curled into a wide smile as she tossed back her long, brown hair. Libby studied her, noting the light dusting of freckles on the other woman’s cheeks and her soft, dark eyes. Did Marcella close them when she kissed?
Spread-eagled on her desk, Marcella kneeling before her fingering her pussy, with her tongue stroking Libby’s clit…the thought easily doubled the room temperature. And, as Marcella would soon point out, it did little for Libby’s computer skills.
Marcella ducked away and rounded the partition. She looked over Libby’s shoulder and chuckled at the screen, touching a finger to the document. “Nobody’s going to hire a journalist who can’t even spell the name of the school that bestowed her degree.”
“Huh?” Libby’s gaze returned to her resume, which was filled with numerous spelling errors. Her own name, for one. McDonald’s wouldn’t hire the person submitting this.
She closed the document and grunted. “You turn in your piece yet?” Marcella had spent the last few days interviewing women claiming to have sired children by vampires. Bullshit, of course, but thanks to the lasting popularity of Bella and Edward and their sparkling friends, this kind of bullshit sold papers and app downloads, which in turn kept advertisers happy.
“In three, two...” Marcella drove the point home by rolling back to her desk. Libby followed in time to see her co-worker pressing the send command on an e-mail to Yale. “I think it’s the best one yet. Got some nice pictures of these twins with teeny tiny fangs,” Marcella said.
Libby laughed. “Come on! Two more articles like that, and you can compile them into a science fiction anthology.”
Marcella shrugged. “Well, it’s at least as entertaining as my pieces about the body snatchers living underneath the mall...oh, and the outer space aliens secretly plotting with the governor.”
“Yes, we can’t forget them,” Libby said dryly. “You know the Weekly Spectator maintains a strict equal-time policy for all spooks.”
“How about you? What irons smolder in your fire?”
Libby nodded toward Yale’s closed office door. Had Alissa come up for air yet? They watched two silhouettes tangle on the frosted glass. Quite a bit of activity going on in there, and it hardly looked journalistic. “He gave me my assignment, hence my desire to jump ship.”
Marcella winced. “More celebrity sweet potatoes? A rutabaga, even?”
Libby shook her head, already picturing the disappointment on her mother’s face upon learning her idol walked not on water, but with feet of clay. Secret lesbian clay. “No, what he gave me...was big.”
“His cock, he wishes,” Marcella snorted, and laughed as Libby stared at her. “You know Yale, always reaching for the final frontier. I wouldn’t doubt he’d try to land you, despite your lack of interest in men.”
“Yeah, right.” Libby let out a nervous laugh. She didn’t keep her sexual orientation a secret in the newsroom, but she noticed Marcella said nothing about Yale wanting her. If Yale didn’t consider Marcella a challenge, maybe Libby had no hope.
“Anyway,” Marcella rejoined quickly. “That’s probably the topic of his meeting with Alissa right now.”
Libby raised an eyebrow, but that was as far as she got before Alissa burst from Yale’s office wearing a gaping expression that could only have resulted from a quaking orgasm.
Libby tried to recall the last time somebody left her satisfied and looking glazed. Libby wanted to gape like that one day…or right now. Libby wanted Marcella to lick her into a gelatinous state that forced her to hire a stretcher to wheel her home.
Not tonight, damn it. Libby had to troll lesbian bars in a quest to out Ellyn Grizzard. No time for fun, even if she wanted to pick up somebody.
Then a sobering thought occurred: what if nobody bothered to hit on her? Libby rarely played the aggressor, which perfectly explained her single state. What could be worse than total rejection?
“Having a photo taken of you French-kissing a sweet potato in a wig?” Marcella supplied. Libby blinked—she hadn’t realized she’d asked the question out loud.
Marcella patted Libby’s shoulder. The mere touch rippled her insides. Libby twitched down below, as if her pussy demanded equal time as well. “You’ll do fine,” Marcella said as Libby finally revealed the assignment. “I mean, you’ve been to the bars, right? It’s not like you’re going in uninformed.”
“You’d think that, but I’m not a ‘bar’ person. If Ellyn Grizzard were trolling straight bars looking for young studs, do you think Yale would have sent me out to catch her? He wouldn’t have given this to a straight person?”
“You would still have the story, because you’re a damn good writer.” Marcella said it with all sincerity, catching Libby off-guard. She’d received positive feedback before, but usually from readers who hungered for more tall tales of forbidden vampire love. Yale only praised her work when an advertiser renewed a contract in reaction to it, and Marcella…when they talked, the Spectator hardly came up as a topic.
“Thanks,” Libby said, “but I guess the nature of the assignment bothers me. My mom watches this woman’s show, and I felt like the token lesbian in Yale’s office a while ago.” She paused, hoping for Marcella to interrupt and assure Libby that wasn’t the case. To fill the disappointing silence, she added, “Wouldn’t you feel bad if you went to a singles bar, spent the whole night there, and left untouched?”
“I’ll let you know if it happens.”
Libby sighed. “I wish I had your confidence.” And your hands on my tits. “And your knack for finding stories so I can be more proactive.” And your fingers in my pussy. “You ever gonna let me in how you find all the hot leads?”
“No,” Marcella said with mock haughtiness. “I want out of here as much as you, and you know that a good reporter never reveals her sources.”