Ditching Greek | editing

38| Missing Cases

"HOLDEN J. SHEPPARD....As in-" I caught myself. There was no way he was the Holden I was thinking of. He'd be a dead man in these hallways. Why was he here in the past though? I'd seen him before. None of this made sense. I shook my head.

The corner of his mouth pulled into a sly smile. Dimples sunk deep in his stumbled cheeks. "The look you're giving me tells me you know who I am pretty damn well."

"No you can't be who I think you are."

"I am."

I stepped back, gripping the edge of a countertop. "Who let you in?" I asked, dazed and breathless as I spoke. What was he doing here? He had no business in being at Portland Tribune. I was more amazed at the fact that he had gotten himself past security and into the breakroom without raising a few eyebrows. "You're-

"The head editor and chief of Portland Press Herald," he said for me, saying it as if it was a title he knew how wear with a big bright smile.

He was the talk of legends. And also the competition of the Portland Tribune. I was shocked I was still standing up straight in front of him, breathing, talking. I measly a speck in his radar. A nobody trying so desperately to be a somebody in his line of work.

"I think you have the wrong address. Your office at Portland Press Herald is ten blocks down."

"I know where I am." He chuckled, walking toward the fridge and pressed his back against it. He pushed half of his hand into his pocket, crossing his ankles before him. "I've a bit of a project going on with the Tribune. I've been popping in and out of here for quite some time now."

"Yeah, I know about that. I've spotted you a few times here and there."

"I expected that." He took a sip of his coffee. "I've a face people typically can't easily forget."

I rolled my eyes. It was me laughing now. Yes, he was good-looking but more in the adult kind of way, like your parent's friend you secretly had a crush on, but never did anything about because you were so young and he was so much older than you.

"What?" he inquired, tilting his head to the side. "What's so funny?"

I kept my mouth shut. For the best of both of us. He wasn't my boss, but he was someone to reckon with in the journalism world. He had started off as an intern himself at the New York Times, working his way up the latter till he ran the place himself. Some scandal had broken out a few years back, causing him to flee the place before he could finish his work there. Eventually he found himself back to a high title again. But Portland Press Herald was a step down from his last job, and I didn't need to tell him that.

Only a small circle of people knew what the scandal was truly about. There were a lot of guesses floating around, but I doubted any of them sprang from the true story. A lot of them had to do with him cheating on his wife with not just one, but two interns, but that didn't seem bad enough to fire an Editor and Chief. If anything, they would fire the interns...the interns no one had gotten a name on. Another reason why I didn't believe the rumor about the interns was because they'd never come to the public and spoken about what happened. Mistresses always talk. They eventually did, sooner or later.

Holden swirled the reminder of coffee in his cup, staring down at it. I focused on the absence of his wedding band on his left hand. If he'd gotten a divorce, I wouldn't know. "Now that I've told you why I'm here, why don't you tell me why you are here?"

"I already told you. I'm an intern."

His eyes brightened. "Are you still in school?"

"Yes," I answered. "I go to the university in Cloverdale."