Other Desk, by Eric Smith

JJ had ten office mates over the years—engineers, technicians, loud-talking marketers, and a retired Marine who called him “Ace.” Only Alice, thirty years his senior, was a fellow editor. She chain-smoked unfiltered cigarettes, drank multiple martinis at lunch, and still put out creditable copy. In an Army manual she claimed to have written, 

“If you’ve read this far, you’re the only sonofabitch besides me who has.” 

JJ wrote Alice’s resume for a company proposal. The next day, she failed to appear. The phone rang; the manager asked for an editor’s resume. When pressed he revealed Alice had passed away.