Dorian didn’t join us for lunch. When I asked about it, Clarissa and Mary exchanged knowing glances before Clarissa explained that, “he had something to do.”
“Does he have a job?” I asked, purely out of curiosity’s sake. Mainly because I couldn’t imagine Dorian working a shift serving tables; but given as how he was able to maintain ownership of this gigantic house—let's not even try to think about the electricity bills he must get every month—he was probably getting his money from being some sort of businessman. Most of the people living in Cherry Lane were said to either come from old money, or own one of the larger buildings in the city's center.
“He does have some sort of a job,” Clarissa answered carefully, “but that isn’t where he is at right now.”
“Mr. D owns half of the street,”
