"A couple's gaming booth sounds nice, but what makes it actually good?"
"It's good because you get two high-spec PCs side by side—small room, big intimacy."
"Close the door, and you're in your own little world."
Arden knew some students with serious gaming addictions liked hitting up gaming cafés for dates, jumping straight into sweet duo queues together.
The bolder ones even saved money on hotel rooms.
The more upscale evolution of this became e-sports hotels, though naturally the prices jumped up a tier.
Money wasn't an issue for Arden anymore, but with Imogen's social anxiety, an e-sports hotel might be too much. However, after a slight hesitation when he mentioned the couple's booth, she still followed him inside.
Mainly because Arden had walked straight up to the front desk and loaded five grand onto a card. The place was running a promotion: add five thousand, get five thousand free.
Then Arden stated that from now on, whenever they came here to game together, they'd use the money from his card.
Imogen initially refused, but Arden patiently worked his angle: "Look, I hired you, right? So I need to provide good working conditions. You using my gaming café credit is like a boss paying rent for office space—it's just a business expense."
"Since when do employees pay for office rent?"
Imogen thought about it. "Hmm, I guess that makes sense."
As a straight-laced STEM major, she valued logic. Since Arden had convinced her logically, she had no choice but to follow him into the couple's booth.
Boot up.
Clock in... no, log in.
"Did you pick up your car this morning?"
"Yeah."
"What were you doing this afternoon?"
Imogen looked at Arden with a puzzled expression, a faint blush creeping up. "I'm not trying to pry or anything, just curious. Um, making conversation. You don't have to tell me if you don't want to."
"It's fine, we're friends. Normal to share daily life stuff. I was shopping this afternoon and picked up some pastries. Brought them with me—you can eat them if you get hungry while gaming."
Arden placed the Chinese bakery box on the table between their monitors.
These trendy little pastries, setting everything else aside, definitely looked Instagram-worthy.
Imogen clearly swallowed, though her face remained expressionless.
"I'm not hungry."
"Okay."
"Logging in now."
"I'm ready too. Let's go."
Happy gaming hour commenced.
Intense gaming time always flew by. By the time Arden checked the clock, their agreed-upon two hours were almost up.
The delivery food they'd ordered for dinner hadn't been super filling. It was only a little past nine in the evening, and he was already getting hungry again.
Arden reached for the pastry box, only to find it completely empty.
Wait, what?
No way. Imogen.
When did she eat all of them?
Arden hadn't noticed at all. Imogen, you've got skills.
When his gaze fell on her, she looked like she was playing innocent.
Feeling self-conscious under Arden's stare, she mumbled softly, "Sorry, I accidentally ate them all."
"Oh, nothing to be embarrassed about... Did you even eat dinner before coming over?"
"I ate."
"Then you didn't eat enough."
"Mm."
"Are you really that short on cash?"
"It's not like I'm so broke I can't afford food, just been busy lately and haven't had much appetite... Your pastries were really good though."
Imogen licked her lips, looking unsatisfied, like a hungry cat that hadn't eaten in days.
Her cute expression formed a stark contrast with her usual cool demeanor.
Arden's heart stirred. "Then let me help you get that appetite back. Come on, let's grab a late-night bite together."
Imogen wanted to refuse. Arden treating her to food meant extra money spent.
Even though Arden clearly didn't lack the cash.
It was purely Imogen's fierce sense of pride.
Ever since her mom got sick, Imogen had experienced plenty of society's casual cruelty, and by contrast, Arden had already given her far too much kindness.
Good people shouldn't be held hostage, and good guys shouldn't be treated like ATMs.
Facing Imogen's hesitation and internal struggle, Arden's solution was...
He opened Venmo and sent her four hundred dollars.
Imogen: "?"
"I'm hiring you for a job. Come with me to get food. We'll count it as two hours for now, same rate as gaming."
"...That doesn't seem right."
"What's wrong with it? I'm not going to eat you."
"It's not that I'm worried about that, I just... Oh, fine."
Imogen accepted defeat.
Arden said he wanted to grab a bite, and it probably wouldn't be too expensive anyway.
They headed down to the building's underground parking garage.
The sound of the Mercedes GLE unlocking, coupled with the flashing headlights, made the black, imposing, and commanding silhouette emerge with an almost oppressive presence in the darkness of the parking garage.
Luxury SUVs, especially ones with that high stance, had this strange way of making people who rarely saw them feel small.
"Is this the car you picked up this morning?"
"Yep."
"It's gorgeous." Imogen suddenly thought of something, stood by the car, pondered for a moment, then asked, "Can I sit in the passenger seat?"
"Why couldn't you?" Arden chuckled.
"I heard the passenger seat is reserved for girlfriends or wives, and you're not supposed to let other girls sit there casually."
"So what? I don't have a girlfriend."
As he said it, an image of Scarlet inexplicably popped into Arden's mind.
To be fair.
He'd never actually said Scarlet was his girlfriend.
He was already loaded—why bother with traditional relationships?
Wouldn't it be better to have a few close connections instead?
Imogen was cute and genuine, perfect for gaming companionship; Scarlet was charming with that fun contrast, great for shopping trips.
One had long legs, the other had... considerable assets.
Each filled a different lane, no overlap.
Perfect. Just perfect.
When it came to romance, Arden was a firm believer in the modern approach.
"You don't have a girlfriend? Hmm... then it's fine."
Only then did Imogen confidently get in the car.
If Arden had a girlfriend, she would definitely keep her distance.
But Arden said he didn't.
This stirred some complicated thoughts in Imogen's mind.
Lost in thought, the car soon arrived at the restaurant.
Looking at the upscale entrance with its industrial-chic exposed brick and edison bulb lighting, Imogen complained, "This is really just a pub? Doesn't look like it."
"What does it look like then?"
"Like one of those overpriced, underwhelming steakhouses."
"Haha, true!" Arden laughed. "But I asked a friend—this place is supposed to be amazing. They do this whole farm-to-table thing with craft cocktails, supposed to really boost your appetite."
"Oh."
Walking into the restaurant, Imogen immediately caught the scent of grilled meats and fresh herbs.
Her stomach instantly let out a plea to be filled.
She felt a bit embarrassed, and being her first time in such a high-end dining establishment, she kept her head down, withdrawn and quiet.
Social anxiety was like that.
It didn't matter—Arden had everything handled anyway. He ordered everything that looked good on the menu, making it a luxurious spread.
High-end gastropubs were essentially a trend that started in San Francisco and had now blown into Bayside City. The form might have changed (like the elevated comfort food focus), but the core elements supporting its price point hadn't.
"Upper-class" dining environment, "upper-class" service, and "upper-class" ingredients.