Chapter 467: Connor Hayes Strode into the Tearoom

"Grant Holloway, what's your game?" Connor Hayes strode into the tearoom, his leather shoes tapping an urgent rhythm against the hardwood floor.

"Care to elaborate?" Connor didn't look up, continuing to arrange the tea set with deliberate precision.

"Why was the Harbor Point development project suddenly halted?"

Connor lifted his teacup for a measured sip. "Terminated due to lack of mutual interest. Problem?"

"Do you have any idea how much we lose per day in stalled operations?"

"Roughly."

"And you still pulled the plug?!"

The kettle hissed steam between them as Connor began a second infusion with infuriating calm.

Grant slammed his palm over the lid. "Three days dodging my calls, now the silent treatment?"

Connor finally met his gaze. "Who said I was avoiding you?"

"Your secretary claimed you were traveling. Convenient timing."

A humorless chuckle. "Prearranged site inspection in Fairhaven. Scheduled two weeks ago. Hardly an evasion tactic."

"Fairhaven?" Grant's eyes sharpened like honed steel.

The corner of Connor's mouth twitched upward.

Mason Reed chose that moment to interject. "You went to Fairhaven, Connor? Their street food's killer... Wait, isn't that Clara's hometown—Ow!"

Julian Cross's dress shoe came down hard on his instep.

Mason's mouth snapped shut.

Grant's stare could have frozen magma. "You went to see her."

"Business trip," Connor corrected smoothly. "Though I did encounter Clara."

"What did you just call her?"

"Clara."

Grant's fist cratered the tea table. "Say it again. I dare you."

"Clara~ Clara~" Connor drawled with mocking singsong cadence.

Grant seized his collar. "Forgotten my last warning already?"

Connor swatted his hand away, straightening his lapel. "Warning? By what authority? Her ex? Don't flatter yourself."

A controlled inhale. "You'd sabotage our partnership over this? I thought you at least understood professional boundaries."

"Clara despises men who blur personal and professional lines. Does she know how petty you're being?"

The teacup met wood with a thunderous crack.

"Save the theatrics. Reverse psychology won't work here." Connor's voice turned arctic. "State your purpose—here to discuss Clara, or the project?"

"Let me be clear. This is merely the first termination. All joint ventures will be systematically dissolved. Consider our professional ties severed."

Grant's pupils contracted to pinpoints. "You've lost your goddamn mind."

"Is it truly incomprehensible?"

"Because Clara and I have history? Connor, are you clinically insane? Throwing away millions to nurse a bruised ego?"

Their twenty-plus collaborations spanned multiple industries. Dissolution meant incinerating years of capital and labor.

"Worth destroying everything?" Grant's laugh held razor blades. "Chase Clara all you want! I'm not initiating the split—you are!"

"Don't tell me you actually believe cutting ties with me will make her choose you?"

"Pathetic." Grant hurled his cup against the wall.

Porcelain shrapnel rained down.

"Never pegged you for a love-struck fool, Connor Hayes."