“So what did you want to talk about that was so private we had to forego beer?”

A chill rippled over my skin, and I sat up straighter, my good mood faltering. “At the house.”

“Wow. Are we hiding a body? Skipping the country? What did you do? Who did you kill? Oh shit, you robbed a bank for real, didn’t you?”

I laughed. “Nothing like that. I… There’s a possible job opportunity I wanted to run past you. It’s a fuck-ton of money, and it would help fund my last year of school.”

“Then what’s the problem? Take it. Do it. Why do we have to talk about it? In private, no less?”

“It’s … complicated.” I shifted and stared out the window as he drove into our old neighborhood.

“Complicated how?”

“When we get there.”

Asher grumbled and kept driving.

My parents lived in a wealthier subdivision at the far edge of town. The houses were spread apart and set back off the road. Each boasted a gated entrance and long winding driveway. Our house was hidden among an acreage of trees—maples, oaks, pines, and elms—and backed onto a small pond where Asher and I had spent every winter of our childhood skating and playing hockey.

The driveway was seamless, textured cobblestones in various shades of gray. It wound around extravagant gardens that bloomed a rainbow of colorful flowers in the summertime. Even in winter, even while dormant and buried under snow, the hedges and evergreens were well-groomed and trimmed to perfection. The gardener was employed year-round.

Our parents came from old money, and the eight-bedroom mansion was considered modest for them. Their cottage on Muskoka Lake was the real crown jewel of the family. I had endless memories of swimming and canoeing and water skiing with my brother for weeks on end when school let out for the summer. As teens, we’d brought friends to the cottage and got up to no good many times, much to Dad’s dismay.

At seventeen, Asher had been caught with the nineteen-year-old girl from the cottage across the lake, fucking her on the docks. It was the same summer I’d built a monstrosity of a bonfire and tried to burn down the forest. Good old days. We’d been forbidden to go the following year as punishment, which sucked.

Asher coded through the privacy gate and drove the long weaving path through the wooded front yard to the house where he parked in our spot in the four-car garage next to where Dad’s BMW usually sat. It was weird being back here. Trepidation made me twitchy. It had only been two months, but I felt like a stranger.

“They won’t be back until nine. I’ll take you home at eight to be safe.”

“Cool.”