pocket.
“Thanks. But there’s something I want to show you first.”
Then, even though he knew it was dumb and that it would serve no purpose whatsoever, he slid the photograph across the table toward her.
* * *
A UDREY STARED AT the photograph Zach had pushed in front of her. Why on earth was he giving her a tatty old class photo?
“Is this something to do with the analysis?” she asked stupidly.
Then her gaze fell on the small, dark-haired boy in the front row and she understood what this was and who she was looking at. Zach was smaller than the other children. He was also the only one who wasn’t smiling. Both his knees were dark with gravel rash, and his hair very badly needed a cut. Her gaze shifted to the plaque one of the children was holding: Footscray Primary School, Grade Two, 1989.
Slowly she lifted her gaze to his.
“You went to Footscray Primary?” She could hear the incredulity in her own voice. She felt incredulous—there was no way that this polished, perfect man could have emerged from one of Melbourne’s most problematic inner-city suburbs. It didn’t seem possible to her. Although Footscray had enjoyed a renaissance in recent years thanks to the real estate boom and its proximity to the city, for many, many years the inner western suburb had been about stolen cars and drug deals and people doing it tough.
“Footscray Secondary College, too,” Zach confirmed.
She blinked as the full import of what he was saying hit home. All the assumptions she’d made about him and all of the niggling little resentments and moments of self-conscious inadequacy that had sprung from those assumptions... All wrong.
All of it.
Oh, boy.
She’d judged him from day one, slotting him neatly into a tidy little box that accorded with her view of the world. All because she’d looked at his expensive suits and smooth good looks and fancy car and decided he was one of God’s gifted people. But it hadn’t only been about him—about her perception of him, anyway. It had also been about her, about the chip she carried on her shoulder because no matter how hard she worked and how far up the food chain she climbed and how carefully she colored in between the lines, there was a part of her that would always feel like an impostor thanks to the lessons of her childhood and the mistakes of her teenage years.
“You know, I think that’s the first time I’ve seen you truly stumped for a response,” Zach said.
“Hardly.” It seemed to her that she was all too often speechless and incoherent when he was around. “I’ve made a lot of assumptions about you, haven’t I? I’m sorry. That was...really dumb and rude of me.”
“I didn’t set the record straight because I wanted an apology. I figured if we were working together it would be good if we were on the same page.”
Very decent of him. Not that she deserved it. When she thought of all the different ways she’d misjudged him... It literally made her toes curl inside her shoes. When had she become such a horrible, narrow-minded, threatened person?
“I feel like an enormous idiot, if it’s any consolation to you.” Along with a lot of other things—petty, smug, stupid, to name a few.
“To be fair, I do own a Patek Philippe watch.”
She realized a little dazedly that he was smiling, and she understood that he was very generously letting her off the hook.
“Don’t forget your Hugo Boss shoes,” she said after a short pause.
“And my Armani suit. Although today it’s Ermenegildo Zegna.”
“Pretty impressive.” She meant it, too. Not because she was impressed by luxury brands, but because he’d clearly shaken off a behind-the-eight-ball start in life to get to a point where he could buy himself such beautiful things. That kind of commitment and hard work and determination took gumption and smarts and whole host of other damned fine characteristics.
“The point has never been to impress anyone.”
She believed him. He’d never been
“Thanks. But there’s something I want to show you first.”
Then, even though he knew it was dumb and that it would serve no purpose whatsoever, he slid the photograph across the table toward her.
* * *
A UDREY STARED AT the photograph Zach had pushed in front of her. Why on earth was he giving her a tatty old class photo?
“Is this something to do with the analysis?” she asked stupidly.
Then her gaze fell on the small, dark-haired boy in the front row and she understood what this was and who she was looking at. Zach was smaller than the other children. He was also the only one who wasn’t smiling. Both his knees were dark with gravel rash, and his hair very badly needed a cut. Her gaze shifted to the plaque one of the children was holding: Footscray Primary School, Grade Two, 1989.
Slowly she lifted her gaze to his.
“You went to Footscray Primary?” She could hear the incredulity in her own voice. She felt incredulous—there was no way that this polished, perfect man could have emerged from one of Melbourne’s most problematic inner-city suburbs. It didn’t seem possible to her. Although Footscray had enjoyed a renaissance in recent years thanks to the real estate boom and its proximity to the city, for many, many years the inner western suburb had been about stolen cars and drug deals and people doing it tough.
“Footscray Secondary College, too,” Zach confirmed.
She blinked as the full import of what he was saying hit home. All the assumptions she’d made about him and all of the niggling little resentments and moments of self-conscious inadequacy that had sprung from those assumptions... All wrong.
All of it.
Oh, boy.
She’d judged him from day one, slotting him neatly into a tidy little box that accorded with her view of the world. All because she’d looked at his expensive suits and smooth good looks and fancy car and decided he was one of God’s gifted people. But it hadn’t only been about him—about her perception of him, anyway. It had also been about her, about the chip she carried on her shoulder because no matter how hard she worked and how far up the food chain she climbed and how carefully she colored in between the lines, there was a part of her that would always feel like an impostor thanks to the lessons of her childhood and the mistakes of her teenage years.
“You know, I think that’s the first time I’ve seen you truly stumped for a response,” Zach said.
“Hardly.” It seemed to her that she was all too often speechless and incoherent when he was around. “I’ve made a lot of assumptions about you, haven’t I? I’m sorry. That was...really dumb and rude of me.”
“I didn’t set the record straight because I wanted an apology. I figured if we were working together it would be good if we were on the same page.”
Very decent of him. Not that she deserved it. When she thought of all the different ways she’d misjudged him... It literally made her toes curl inside her shoes. When had she become such a horrible, narrow-minded, threatened person?
“I feel like an enormous idiot, if it’s any consolation to you.” Along with a lot of other things—petty, smug, stupid, to name a few.
“To be fair, I do own a Patek Philippe watch.”
She realized a little dazedly that he was smiling, and she understood that he was very generously letting her off the hook.
“Don’t forget your Hugo Boss shoes,” she said after a short pause.
“And my Armani suit. Although today it’s Ermenegildo Zegna.”
“Pretty impressive.” She meant it, too. Not because she was impressed by luxury brands, but because he’d clearly shaken off a behind-the-eight-ball start in life to get to a point where he could buy himself such beautiful things. That kind of commitment and hard work and determination took gumption and smarts and whole host of other damned fine characteristics.
“The point has never been to impress anyone.”
She believed him. He’d never been
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