A Cup of Tea Bk. 01

Thank you to StormKite for your invaluable assistance. This story wouldn't have made it to the finish line without your help.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, merchandise, companies, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. All characters depicted in sexual situations are 18 years of age or older.

Chapter One

The Borough of Queens, City of New York

Spring, Present Day

Cherry blossoms fluttered to the ground as a procession of delivery trucks rumbled by, some stopping to make deliveries at the small mom and pop grocery stores and vegetable stands that dotted the busy thoroughfare. The annual explosion of pink and white was welcomed with a just completed neighborhood festival as the residents celebrated the coming of spring after a long and bitterly cold New York City winter. The remnants of the weeks ago snowfall lay on the grassy boulevard adjoining the street, its original pure white color now a dirty grey. Couples walking leashed dogs and children on their way to school passed one another on the sidewalks as shop owners rolled up metal doors, welcoming the start of another day.

Early morning sunlight filtered in through thin vertical blinds as a slightly built Japanese woman wearing a traditional silk kimono strained piping hot water through fragrant tea leaves. She sat with her legs neatly tucked underneath her at a low-rise sandalwood table. Keiko called to her aging mother to join her in their first tea service of the day. As they sat there sipping the traditional drink of their ancestors, the discussion took place in hushed tones due to the recent passing of Keiko's father and Mariko's husband of forty-five years, Koji Muramoto. Koji had been a pillar of the local Japanese-American community, and his presence was already sorely missed. The two women grieved openly as they discussed the passing of the family's patriarch and the handling of his legacy.

The most pressing matter was Koji's duties at the Japanese-American Community Center. Every Friday he managed the food service for the elderly members of their tightly-knit group, starting early in the morning to shop at the local grocery stores and then spending the remainder of the morning preparing and serving lunch in the expansive common room that served as a dining room on Fridays. Mariko had always accompanied her husband, but the seventy-year old woman had never managed the food service by herself. The Friday tradition was suspended when Koji became ill, and this upcoming Friday would be the first lunch served in twenty-seven years where Koji was not managing the process.

Koji's passing had been a long and tortuous process. The advance of his pancreatic cancer took over a year and a half to claim the stout first generation Japanese-American, whose parents immigrated to the United States shortly after World War II. Mariko entrusted the management of the finances of the household to her daughter, as her husband's prolonged illness made a significant dent in the family savings and the family's remaining money had to be stingily managed. Despite Keiko's financial acumen, it was a struggle to pay the medical bills that were still coming in while attending to the rent and other expenses of day-to-day living.

Both women knelt quietly at the table, completing the tea ritual as if it were a long familiar folk dance. The fragrance of the tea, and the solemnity of the ancient ritual, dispelled the anxiety of the moment as both women pondered their uncertain futures.

* * *

Dax Hanlon started his morning as he always did, sitting at a small square table covered with a white tablecloth, the table flush against an expansive picture window overlooking the East River. The apartment building that included his penthouse apartment was one of his first acquisitions in his burgeoning collection of New York real estate. His full-time housekeeper and chef, Madeline, at precisely 7:30 a.m., placed a gleaming white ceramic bowl holding half a grapefruit and a small square plate holding two soft scrambled eggs and a slightly burned piece of toast in front of him. He nodded in silent approval, noting that the toast had just the right amount of char on it. The redheaded chef returned moments later with a small clay pot of orange marmalade, a cup of hot Kona coffee and a neatly folded Wall Street Journal.

The young real estate scion glanced at the headlines, then set about eating his breakfast. As he scraped the last of the eggs off his plate he looked out his window to the East River and beyond, watching a jet make its final approach to LaGuardia. Life had been good for Dax Hanlon. Even though he suffered mightily during the divorce from his second wife, his life had now resumed some sense of normalcy, and the daily routine he observed helped him reach what he thought was his emotional center.

He tossed his cloth napkin on his plate and went to his closet to finish dressing for a long day at the office. He stood in front of the floor to ceiling mirror in his walk-in closet and adjusted the knot on his Hermes tie and then drew the sleeve of his custom-tailored suit coat up his left arm and then his right, shrugging his shoulders to straighten the jacket. He adjusted his collar and pushed back a lock of his ebony hair off his forehead. Satisfied, he walked briskly to the front door and bid goodbye to his housekeeper.

A pristine black Bentley sat idling near the curb as Dax exited his apartment building. The back door was held open for him by his driver, and as expected his assistant Melanie, a tall, leggy brunette, was sitting on the far side of the spacious leather bench seat. As he slid into his usual spot on the bench seat, he couldn't help but notice that she had either absentmindedly (or purposefully) left one extra button open, allowing him the privilege of seeing her magnificent cleavage. As his driver (and right-hand man) Mason shut the rear passenger door with a reassuring thud Dax thought it ironic that he finally had the wherewithal to afford a $350,000 car, yet he had never driven it himself. Mason was a high school classmate and had been with Dax for the past twenty years. If there was a job that needed to be done, Mason was his man.

Dax had hired Melanie five years ago as an unpaid intern. As she proved to be indispensable, her job duties morphed into serving as his personal assistant. Melanie probably knew Dax better than he knew himself. She knew she was eye candy, and had purposefully left the extra button open. As expected, Dax treated himself to the view when he entered the vehicle, seeing the snow-white skin that formed the deep valley between two perfectly formed breasts. But for Dax it was all business now.

A smile curled up on Melanie's full lips as she recalled that clumsy (and awkward) night two years ago when they had worked together to close a deal with a local investor who had cobbled together a small portfolio of apartment buildings in Queens. Their trip to Miami to meet with the retired investor, a rotund Japanese man in his eighties, had been successful, and after the papers were signed the pair ended up in the hotel bar until last call at two a.m. Dax had just separated from his second wife, and even though they were more than ten years apart, and against their better judgment, they ended up in her room.

Dax swore it was the only time he had ever found himself impotent, despite Mel's heroic efforts. For Dax, that was the last time they would be lovers. Mel's intentions weren't as clear. Although Dax assumed their relationship was now plutonic, Mel never discounted the possibility that there could be more between the two of them. She was a strong woman, but no less susceptible to his imposing physical stature and boyish good looks. She didn't press the matter, but took every opportunity to remind Dax that she was a young, desirable and available woman.

As they went down Park Avenue toward Dax's office building, Mel briefed him on the meetings she had scheduled that day. Of note, the afternoon meeting featured a prominent real estate investment trust that had taken an interest in an apartment building in Queens that was purchased from the Miami-based Japanese investor. Dax was interested in liquidating that entire portfolio of apartment buildings so he could redeploy his capital to an office building in Manhattan that had recently been placed on the market - a building adjacent to one that Dax already owned. Dax had done business with this REIT before, and knew that the principals were sharp, but also acutely time sensitive. One of the men had gone to Harvard Law School with his father, so there was a certain affinity between the two of them.

"So Mel, before I step into the conference room, what do they want?" Dax always looked for an edge in his business deals and had tasked Mel with shaking down her sources for the word on the street.

"I heard that they're interested in developing strip centers in the boroughs, and they've made discreet inquiries regarding rezoning the land under that fourplex in Queens." Mel was confident in her information. One of her sources was a clerk in the planning department, and she was always a reliable source for gossip. Dax's ears perked up at the word rezoning. If that land could be rezoned to commercial, it could easily double, if not triple in value.

"And don't forget, Owen's wife's name is Dottie," Mel added.

"Nice job Mel." Dax was already thinking about how much of a profit he'd make off his investment. He liked having the upper hand in business discussions, and it was clear he had something that they wanted. Brimming with confidence, Dax opened the glass door to the main conference room, admiring the view from the conference room's floor to ceiling windows and then noting that the two men he expected had also brought an associate, a stunning blonde in a designer jacket and skirt and black pumps with four-inch stiletto heels that accentuated her long legs. Dax couldn't help but stare at her as she rose from her chair at the conference table.

"So Dax," said the man Dax knew to be Owen Harrison, his father's roommate in law school. "It's good to see you again. You look well."

"I'd say the same about you. You haven't aged a day in the last ten years. And how is Dottie?" Dax asked, showing Owen the necessary respect that he remembered the name of Owen's wife.

Dax suddenly remembered Dottie was the woman who seated herself next to him at a dinner in the Hamptons. He remembered seeing Dottie put her hand under the tablecloth and onto his thigh. Her fingers pressed against the inside of his thigh, all the while Owen and Dax were discussing the latest loss by the Knicks. She touched the bulge in his pants before he was able to push her hand away.

"She's great. She loves working on her garden," answered the older, greying man.

Dax suppressed a smile. It was doubtful Dottie ever got her hands dirty on their ten-acre estate in the Hamptons. The only thing that Dottie seemed set on was getting her hand on his cock.

The blonde confidently stepped forward for her introduction.

"Dax, allow me to introduce you to our new associate, Stella Parsons," said Owen. Stella offered her hand. As Dax and Stella shared a polite handshake, Owen continued. "Stella was with Tauckman for five years and just joined us a few months ago as a senior analyst." Dax knew that Tauckman was reputed to be one of the sharpest developers of suburban strip malls. Mel's intel was spot on.

Dax went over to the credenza to pour himself a cup of coffee. The others already had coffee in front of them. "So what brings you here today?" asked Dax, already knowing the answer.

Stella answered. "Well, Mr. Hanlon ..."

"Dax."

"Well, Dax, we're interested in your four-plex in Queens. We have a strategy to rezone that property to commercial and develop a strip mall on that site. The problem is there's a short window of time to get this done before the sympathetic members of the planning commission turn over. The new appointees are scheduled to assume their posts in about six months."

Dax paused as if he was thinking about what she said. Before entering the meeting he had already decided on what he would ask. Given their eagerness to conclude a deal, he added $250,000 to his mental asking price and told them. The three of them seemed nonplussed by the number, which made Dax feel as if he was still underpricing the property.

Stella looked to the two principals and Dax saw a subtle nod from Owen. They too had agreed on an acceptable price before the meeting and it was clear that Dax's number was within the range they had agreed upon. Dax was excited at the prospect of concluding this deal quickly, and at a substantial profit.

Stella continued. "I believe that your price is acceptable. But there is one caveat. We need you to sell us the building free and clear of the existing leases. Our bank won't give us the necessary financing unless we have clean title. As an incentive, we're prepared to increase our offer by $500,000 if you can buy back all four leases in the next sixty days. We're prepared to close within ninety days, subject of course to the usual inspections."

Dax couldn't believe his good fortune. Not only would he realize a handsome return on his investment, he would earn an extra half million for something that was routine for him. Without even looking at the leases, he was confident he could buy out his existing tenants for less than $200,000. That would leave him with an additional $300,000 in profit.

"Agreed," said Dax, shaking Stella's hand. "I'll have my attorneys start drawing up the papers for a close in ninety days." He also made a mental note to ask Stella out for drinks.

Dax stepped outside the conference room and had another assistant summon Mel. The tall brunette appeared moments later. Dax gave her a knowing smile. She nodded, understanding that the deal was done. They walked into the conference room.

"This is my assistant Melanie Robertson. Mel, you remember Owen and Hank. And this is their new associate, Stella Parsons." There were handshakes all around as Dax continued to talk. "Mel will interface with our lawyers and your team to make sure all of the documents that you require on the fourplex will be provided as soon as possible. Mel, we're looking at a close in ninety days. I've agreed to take the laboring oar on buying out the existing tenants."

Mel nodded her approval, and also noted that Stella was now likely on Dax's radar screen. Another ship passing in the night she thought. She chided herself for her jealous reaction, reminding herself that she had no claim on her boss. Mel recalled, with a bad taste in her mouth, her long-term affair with Owen's partner Hank Rossetti. It gave her chills, and not in a good way, when she shook Hank's hand. He was twenty years her senior, but still an attractive man ... and married. Mel still remembered every detail of the night she was expecting for him to tell her that he was leaving his wife to marry her, and instead told her he was breaking it off. After he told her, she allowed herself a small measure of satisfaction when she slapped his face with enough force to pop out one of his contact lenses (it ended up in pieces under Mel's expensive high heels though she claimed she couldn't find it). That happened five years ago when she was in her early 20's. Her years with Dax showed her the ropes in a man's world. Something like Hank would never happen again.

Since the meeting was completed, the REIT team gathered up their reams of paper and looked to Mel for further instruction. Mel's eyes bored into Hank's, and Hank blinked, lowering his head. Dax knew what happened between Mel and Hank and watched with amusement at the silent pissing match between the two former lovers. Mel returned after escorting the visitors to the lobby and saw a smirk on her boss's face.

"Fuck you Dax."

"What?"

"I saw you watching Hank and me."

"I was entertained. That's all."

"Hence the 'fuck you'."

"I get it." Dax was feeling so good he was going to let Mel have her fun. "Let's figure out a game plan to wrap this deal up. Get Alan on the lessees. Tell him that he's authorized to offer up to $25,000 to each of the tenants. If any of them say no, I want to handle the negotiations."

"Understood." Mel expected Dax's orders and had already sent Alan an e-mail asking him to be in her office in an hour. Then she waited for it.

"And get in touch with Stella. I'd like to meet her for drinks tomorrow night after work to discuss the details of the deal."

"Yes sir," said Mel, giving him a mocking salute. She knew the only detail they'd discuss was whether they'd go to his place or hers. She started to seethe at his superficiality and questioned why she even cared. "I don't want to be his fucking pimp," she fumed inside.

* * *

The following evening Dax was sitting in his favorite bar in the East Village, nursing a 16-year-old Scotch, when Stella came through the front door, looking every bit the fashion model in a slinky low-cut black dress and matching heels. Dax straightened his tie and tugged on his shirt cuffs as he witnessed her entrance. Even though the bar was Dax's home field, her breathtaking dress turned the tables as she sidled up to him at the bar.

Dax lowered his hulking athletic frame off of his barstool and extended his hand to her, clasping her slender hand between his muscular ones.

"Shall we get a table?" Dax asked as he pulled her closer to him. Her perfume wafted past his nose.

She stiffened her body and gave Dax a look of disapproval. "Mel told me to meet you here. I've got to meet my boyfriend for dinner in about thirty minutes," she said in a 'don't fuck with me' tone. "So what are the details you'd like to discuss?"

"I thought maybe you wore that dress for me." Dax was clueless. Stella was furious.

"No. Don't flatter yourself. I'm here to iron out the details of the deal we discussed and nothing more." She was royally pissed, and was regretting being the one to recommend the deal to Owen and Hank.

Dax wasn't used to the cold shoulder from a beautiful woman, and struggled to find his footing. He mistook arrogance for the quiet confidence he was trying to project. "Part of the deal is making sure I'm happy."

She put her hands on her hips so that there was no mistaking her message. "You should be happy since we offered you much more than you were asking."

She desperately wanted to say, "You arrogant prick. I wouldn't go home with you if you were the last man on Earth." Apparently her body language delivered the intended message.

He raised both of his hands in mock surrender. "No harm in asking. You're a very beautiful woman."

Stella backed away from him. "I've got to go. If you want to discuss anything more, have Melanie make an appointment with my assistant to call me in my office." She walked out of the bar, letting the door slam behind her. The bartender, an old friend of Dax's, shrugged his shoulders at Dax as he witnessed her hasty departure.

* * *

The following day Dax was in a foul mood. When Dax was in a foul mood, everyone in the office suffered. Mel knew that meant the meeting with Stella didn't go as Dax had expected and in a pique of anger at his adolescent behavior, decided to have a little fun at his expense.

"So how did it go last night?" she asked, saccharin sweet.

Dax was in no mood to play her game. "You know how it went," he growled.

"You play with matches, you're going to get burned," she said, in an 'I told you so' tone of voice.