Double Star

22 : Virginity Bet 3.

POV Betty

"Here's your order, sir, ma'am." I placed the two plates in front of the elderly couple, greeting them with my usual smile.

"Finally!" the greybeard exclaimed, eyes twinkling. The woman beside him chuckled and rolled her eyes.

"He's such a food lover!" I laughed back at the adorable duo, then returned to wiping down the counters and serving the remaining customers.

It was twenty past one when I slipped off my apron and hung it on its usual hook. The restaurant had mostly cleared out. As I headed toward the door, only three regulars remained, sipping their usual evening coffee like it was some sacred ritual.

"Thanks, Betty. I'll repay you for your kindness," Lorenzo beamed, his flour-dusted apron still clinging to him. He placed his hands lightly on my shoulders.

"You're welcome. But I really have to go now." I checked my watch, then stepped toward the door.

"Wait..."

Just as I reached for the handle, Lorenzo's voice trembled behind me. He looked anxious, like a child about to blurt out a secret.

"Do you really have to go to his place? Why don't you just stay here? I'll make you red tea, pancakes—whatever you want. Just for you. Nothing for him! Or come to my place instead! Or—what if I tell my mom? She'd understand! You're already brilliant, Betty! You don't need to do this stupid project!"

He looked at me, those dark eyes wide with genuine worry.

"Lorenzo, it's fine. I'm just going to do my work and leave. Nothing more." My tone was calm, final.

"But Betty, what if he—what if he does something to you?"

I blinked. "Like what?"

The door creaked open. A bald man with sharp blue eyes, dressed in a dark suit and a perfectly knotted tie, stepped inside. Mr. Passenger.

He glanced at us, his gaze cool and unreadable—the kind of look bosses wear when they're one wrong move away from firing you. Mr. Passenger is a perfectionist who somehow fused modern chic and rustic charm into one award-winning restaurant.

Even though I've only been working at Merry Go-'Round for six months, I've come to appreciate the rhythm he's created—steady, respectful, quietly intense. It suits me. I'm someone who prefers thinking to talking, and here, I've been given time to adjust.

When I freeze or forget my lines, when my usual cheerful tone drops under the weight of an impolite customer's tantrum, he always steps in with the right words.

"It's not your fault, Betty. Even the best companies get calls from angry customers. The key is to calm them first. Hear. Empathize. Apologize. Resolve. Diagnose."

A gentleman, I thought back then. He isn't just well-mannered—he's sharp, deliberate, and experienced.

Opportunities like this don't come often. So, I studied him, learned from him. I taught myself how to read moods, mirror empathy, and avoid taking things personally. Now, I let customers vent without interruption, drop in comforting phrases, and focus on making sure the same issue never repeats. My mind became more like a machine—efficient, quick, detached.

Not only is Merry Go-'Round known for its service, it's also beloved for its cozy yet stylish ambiance. The wood heater is perfect for chilly winters. The flower-filled terrace, ideal for sunny afternoons. It offers refined American cuisine with a particular focus on traditional English fare—one of a kind in the area.

"Lorenzo," Mr. Passenger said flatly, breaking the mood, "still using Betty's break as an excuse to avoid work?"

Lorenzo shot me a pleading look, silently begging for help.