* Julliane *
It was exactly eight thirty in the morning when my manager, Jim, arrived at the house. The sound of his car pulling into the driveway was followed by the familiar knock at the door, and I let him in without hesitation. He walked in like he owned the place, confidence in every step, brushing something from the shoulders of his jacket.
"At what time will your stepbrother be here, Julliane?"
Jim asked as he sank comfortably into the couch in the living room, his eyes already scanning the space with faint disapproval, like he always did when visiting somewhere that wasn't a studio or a luxury suite.
"He said he'd be here at nine," I replied, setting a steaming hot cup of coffee on the table in front of him. The rich aroma of roasted beans filled the room. "That gives me about
