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“The deal was with a Belgium-based company. They’re outsourcing sustainable chocolate from around the world to create a new product, and Durán is one of the farmers they contacted.”
I raise an eyebrow. I thought these kinds of details were supposed to stay secret—unless Owen had finalized the deal. But if that’s the case, why does he need me?
“In the end, Durán was one of the farmers selected. I approached him, thinking I could do business with him. But then, he mentionedyou—how much he admires the work your father is doing in Chile and how he would love to meet the next heir of the Godoy Empire.”
Owen’s smile is too big to be genuine.
And why would Durán mention me to Owen?
It doesn’t make any sense.
“So, you’re trying to facilitate a meeting between Durán and me?” I ask, my gaze narrowing.
Owen's smile grows bigger. “Exactly.”
“Hmm, you’re the middle man now. Who would’ve thought?” I smirk, and he flips me off.
For a fraction of a second, his smile dims—but he quickly recovers. “Anything to keep the ball rolling,” he says and clinks his wine glass against mine, before taking a big gulp.
Interesting.
Six weeks ago, he wanted me to be the middleman, now he wants to switch places.
What changed?
The waiter quickly arrives with our food, setting down my plate of salmon and Owen’s steak. The rich aroma fills the air, momentarily distracting me.
“I’ll call your office to schedule a lunch with Durán,” he says, biting into his raw steak. “By the way, I can’t wait to meet your new assistant. Her voice is sexy as hell.” He wiggles his brows.
I look at him with disgust.
“What?” he asks, a slimy smirk on his face.
“You’re a married man, Owen. For fuck’s sake.” I scowl.
“And? I might be married but I’m not blind, and definitely not deaf.”
I shake my head, feeling way more angry at the thought of Owen having an affair with Camila than I should. I don’t condone cheating, but it’s definitely not my business.
“Unless…” he begins.
“Unless what?”
“Unless you want to smash her first. In which case, I’ll happily move to the side and wait my turn like the fucking gentleman that I am.”
He chews loudly, bits of food visible between his teeth as an ugly grin stretches across his face.
Bile raises in my throat, and I decide to leave before I do something stupid—like knocking this arsehole senseless in one of the most exclusive restaurants in London.
“Enjoy dinner. It’s on me,” I say as I get up.
I nod at the waiter, who meets me by the door. “Let him have whatever he wants, and send the bill to my office.”
The waiter nods, and I make my way to the valet.
It’s time to do some digging of my own.
“Camila, I need you to come over,” I say through the intercom.