Page 22 of Not My Fault

Georgie puts her hand to her mouth and makes the ‘zipping her lips’ motion.

Rolling my eyes, I grab my heels and head for the elevator. I quickly put them on while it brings me to the parking garageunder the building. My driver and bodyguard are in the front seat, and they open the door for me. I send a quick text to let Gus know I’m on the way and they say okay.

I put my phone down on the seat next to me and smooth out my dress. Which is sort of pointless because it’s that satin type of fabric that looks better when it has some wrinkles to it. I don’t know why I’m suddenly nervous, but it’s probably because of what Georgie said to me before I left. I know Gus and I have been flirting more lately in person and over text, but it’s all for show. We’re making it look realistic. It’s not like they’re falling for me; they knew what this is. I’m sure Georgie is just reading into things.

We pull up and Gus isn’t outside, so I get out of the car, click clack my heels into the building, and almost slam into them coming out of the elevator.

“I’m sorry!” I say first.

“I didn’t realize you were coming in, I’m sorry.” Gus smiles. They look me over, my face first, stopping at my chest briefly, and all the way down my body, and then they frown.

“What?” Did my dress have a rip in it or something?

“I’m underdressed.” Gus frowns. They’re in a black T-shirt and a pair of black jeans.

“Oh, this is what you’re wearing?” I sort of thought they were still in work clothes.

“Yeah…is the place fancy? I didn’t realize.” They sigh.

“It is…” Now I feel shitty; I should’ve told Gus where we were going and how fancy it was going to be. I was just focused on getting gluten-free food and making sure I looked okay.

“I’m sorry?—”

“Nonsense, let’s just go somewhere else,” I decide.

“Are you sure? I thought this place was…chosen carefully?” They raise an eyebrow.

“It was, but realistically, it takes five seconds for someone to spot me and paparazzi to follow me.”

“Do you have another place in mind?”

“No, but we can walk around and find something? There has to be something gluten-free around here,” I say.

“Now I feel bad?—”

I cut Gus off again. “It’s my bad. I should’ve told you how to dress; that’s totally on me. As long as we find food, I’m happy to go anywhere.” I smile.

“Okay, I think I know a place. If you trust me.”

“Oh God, should I be scared?” I pause.

“Nah, I think you’ll like it.” Gus holds out their hand and I take it eagerly.

They lead me out the front door and we stop to tell the driver what’s going on. My bodyguard doesn’t like the idea, but I felt safe with Gus. I somehow know they wouldn’t let anything happen to me. So we walk down the street, pausing for the lights to change, and slip into the crowd. That is one of the great things about New York—I can pass for a nobody. Even all dressed up, no one gives a shit because everyone is in their own head about their own stuff. New Yorkers are selfish in the best way.

“Will you tell me where we’re going?” I ask.

“Nope. But trust me, there’s no dress code.” They chuckle.

I follow them through the bustling streets, holding onto their hand tightly. They make sure people make space for me and I’m safe. I keep my head down for the most part, hoping I can keep some anonymity for now. We stop walking and end up on Fifty-eighth Street, right in front of this bright red taco truck. I can’t see the name from where I’m standing, but the menu is short—only six items—and there are pictures of each one on the side.

“Is this where we’re eating?” I ask.

“Yes, they use corn tortillas so that’s okay, right?” Gus checks.

“Yeah.” I smile. “I love tacos.” Of course, I can’t remember the last time I actually ate a taco in the last year, but I do love them.

“Order whatever you want and it’s onme,” Gus says, seeing if I’ll argue with them about paying. It’s kind of misogynistic of them to insist on paying for me, but I decide to let this one slide. I guess I like being taken care of.

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