Spinning scandal is what Sahr Youssef does best. When Zain Hashemi's father hires her to fix his playboy son's image, that's all he's supposed to be: another troubled client. That is, until the friction between them shifts - into chemistry.
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Location, location, location. Where you do something is just as important as what you do. Sahr Youssef knew that, which was why she was so particular about where she met her clients.
Have a client who needs structure, formality, a sense of authority? Meet them in your office. Do they need to be dazzled? Do they respond well to luxury? Take them out for lunch or dinner at a fancy restaurant. Is your client worried? Nervous? Scared? Do they need a little hand holding? Meet them at their house. And bring ice cream.
Yes, Sahr Youssef knew her clients, and she knew exactly how to handle them, including one's like Zain Hashemi.
*****
Mango Street was a well-kept secret. It was a restaurant and cafe that was tucked away in the heart of the city. Frequented by businessmen, celebrities, and the general elite, it was the perfect escape for anyone who wanted good food, privacy, and a quiet place to talk. And the owners worked hard to make sure it stayed that way.
No media or reporters were allowed, and the only way in was by invite. Even social media wasn't a problem; no one dared to tweet or post about this little slice of heaven, lest they risk a lifetime ban and the ire of their fellow patrons. It was the perfect spot for Sahr's meeting with Zain today. It was less formal than her office, but still had an air of understated luxury and sophistication.
Sahr's favorite feature was the open-air cafe on the roof. It had booths and tables that lined the half walls, and plenty of greenery that hung around and in between the seating areas, making people feel as if they were dining in a garden, instead of three stories above the streets of New York.
Currently she was sitting at one of the corner tables, people watching as she waited for Zain.
He better not be late this time she thought, checking her watch. I'm billing him now. If he's late I'll-
"Ahem."
The sound of someone clearing their throat interrupted her train of thought, and she looked up to see Zain standing next to her.
"Mr Hashemi," she said, putting on her best client greeting smile "I'm so glad you could make it. Please, have a seat."
"Thanks." Zain said, sitting down in the chair across from her "And please call me Zain. Mr Hashemi is my father."
"Of course." Sahr replied, taking note of his preference for informality. "Before we begin would you like to order?" she said, gesturing to the menu's in front of them.
"Sure." Zain said, taking a moment to read over the various options. "What's up with this place anyway? There's a list to get in."
"The clientele value their privacy, so the owners try their best to maintain it."
Zain let out a snort of laughter. "I've met TSA agents who're less obsessed with security, and I'm a brown man living in America."
Sahr chuckled. "Did Boris intimidate you?" she asked, referring to the man who stood by the restaurant's entrance.
