Power and Passion (20 page)

"Is that so?" Sara replied, smiling. "What a
small world." "Well, you know how Dubai is." Adam laughed, a
resonating, joyful sound that automatically made Sara smile in
response. "Everybody here knows somebody else. We're all
interconnected, right?"

"Yes," Sara agreed. She wasn't sure if he
meant in business or in life, but it was certainly a view she
agreed with, and it was good to hear him say it too. "Absolutely.
And you know that's part of what my mission is.
Interconnectedness." There was a pause for a moment. The two of
them looked at each other. Adam raised his eyebrows, a bit of a
grin playing on his face. "And you're hoping to find it here at the
Grand Creek?"

Sara laughed a little too. "Okay," she said,
shaking her head. "Let me start over. That didn't come out right."
She stopped for a moment and looked out the window behind Adam's
chair. It was only a little after noon, and the whitehot sun shone
warmly down on the city outside, glimmering off the buildings and
cars.

"I work for the Special Olympics," she said,
squinting, then looked back at Adam in the office. "Have you ever
heard of it?"

He lowered his hands again and leaned
forward, putting his forearms on the desk. "I have," he said. "But
I have to admit I don't really know what it does."

Sara sat up a little straighter. If there
was one thing she could do confidently, it was talk about what the
SO did.

"The Special Olympics was started by Eunice
Kennedy Shriver in the 1960s in the United States. What an
inspiring woman and mother! She was born into wealth and power yet
chose to put her efforts into helping those who had intellectual
disabilities. She and her family had long been advocates of this
population, and at that time she began to focus on children. She
held a day camp in her own backyard to learn more about what
children with such disabilities could do—as opposed to what they
could
not
do."

"Wow," Adam cut in, nodding his head. "That
is a great way of looking at it."

"Yes," Sara agreed. "And it was
revolutionary at the time. Ms. Shriver and her family—including her
brother, John F. Kennedy, when he was president of the United
States— made amazing strides in helping the general public become
more understanding of people with disabilities. To see that they
are people just like everyone else and have capabilities and limits
just like every other human on the planet."

She paused. Adam was looking at her. His
eyes seemed a bit far away, as if he was thinking, but that smile
that seemed ever present on his face was still there.

"Please go on," he said softly. "Tell me
more."

Sara bowed her head for a moment, trying to
hide that irritating blush that rose in her cheeks once again. "All
right. Well." She looked back up, finding her footing once again in
speaking about the organization. "With her family's support and
assistance, Ms. Shriver organized many more similar camps around
the country, which led up to the first Special Olympics being held
in Chicago in 1968. Gradually it has grown into a worldwide event.
It's been held every four years ever since, just like the so-called
regular
Olympics."

Adam was nodding his head again. He sat back
in his chair. "Sounds like an amazing cause."

"Oh, it is," Sara replied, unable to keep
her enthusiasm contained. She sat forward in her chair a bit. "And
the actual Olympics events are just part of it. The SO mission is
to provide athletic training and hold competitions year round for
children and adults with intellectual disabilities, not just for
the sake of physical fitness but to help them develop skills, share
the gifts they may have, develop friendships, enjoy being part of a
community—I mean the list of benefits is just endless."

Adam was smiling at her again. He had his
hands folded, waiting politely for her to finish.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Sara said, sitting back
once more. "I just love what I do, that's all. I get a little
worked up, I suppose, when I talk about it."

"No, no, don't apologize," he said right
away. "Don't ever apologize for being passionate about a cause you
believe in. That sort of dedication is a beautiful thing." He sat
forward again, folding his hands now on the desk. "So tell me. What
sort of sports do they play?"

"Goodness," Sara replied. "It would be
easier to ask what they
don't
play. Right now we're coaching
swimming, soccer, badminton, cycling, bowling, track and
field—"

"Like running?" Adam sat up, putting his
hands on his chest. "Oh, I love running. I do a few miles every
night after work. Do you run too? Are you a coach, I mean?"

Now she smiled at him. Apparently he had a
bit of passion in him too. "No, I'm not a coach," she said. "Nor do
I run. What is the joke? Only when chased?"

They both laughed, and Sara was happy for
the break in the tension. It wasn't that she felt uncomfortable; on
the contrary, she felt quite an unexpected connection with this
man. Not in any romantic way, though she had to admit he was not
difficult to look at. No, she simply appreciated meeting someone
who recognized her enthusiasm for what she did. Someone who didn't
see her dedication as cute because it wasn't focused on making
money. Someone like—

No, Sara
, she thought, pushing the
thought of Pierce out of her head. When would he stop invading her
mind like that? It seemed like everything reminded her of him a
little bit, and his memory was always coming back at times like
this—unwelcomed, unbidden, leaving her with a knot in her throat
and a feeling of pressure behind her eyes.

"So listen," Adam went on, breaking the
silence that had filled the room. He held his hands out in front of
him, palms up, a beseeching gesture. "How can we help you here? The
Special Olympics sounds great. I'm in. I'm totally sold on the
idea. But where does Grand Creek come in? What's your plan? What do
you need from us?"

She shifted in her seat a little, crossing
her legs at the ankles, smoothing out the lines in her skirt. "What
I need is a venue," she said, keeping her voice low and even,
trying to sound businesslike, or at least as close to it as she
could come. She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to channel
Joan and all the advice the older woman had given her about making
deals.

"That is I want to hold a fundraising
event," she went on, opening her eyes and looking directly at Adam.
The intensity seemed to wake him up too. He sat up straighter, even
cleared his throat as he prepared to listen.

"A gala," Sara went on. "Food, music,
speakers, celebrity appearances—we're still in the planning stages,
so I can't say too much yet, but it's going to be a big
affair."

"To raise funds for the Special Olympics?"
Adam clarified.

Sara nodded. "Yes, for our regional branch,
where I work. But over and above that, really, the goal is to
generate public awareness of the organization. People with
intellectual disabilities are still somewhat misunderstood in many
parts of the world, but I believe that if only more people had
better insight—if they only knew, as Ms. Shriver tried to show,
what they are capable of, not only what they cannot do—then I think
there would be more acceptance, more access in the community, and
more assistance for those who need it. I also believe that if
people in general knew more about the Special Olympics, they might
be inspired to follow their own dreams of helping other people, of
dedicating their lives to serving their fellow man."

Adam smiled very warmly at her. "Just like
you have," he said, his voice as soft as his expression was.

Sara tried hard not to blush again. All
these compliments—she simply wasn't used to it. "Ah, yes," she said
and cleared her throat. "Yes, that is what I try to do. I hope I
can make a difference in people's lives."

There was a silence between them for a
moment, and they looked into each other's eyes. Sara would normally
not be so bold, but there was something so inviting in the way Adam
gazed at her. They had only just met, but she felt like she had
known him for years.

"So you want to hold the gala here," he went
on at last. "At the Grand Creek. Is that what you've come to
discuss?" Sara laughed a little. "Yes. Well, possibly. Joan had
mentioned it as a possibility."

Adam stood up. "Well, then, I'd say that
Mrs. Harris is right. Come." He walked out from behind his desk and
over toward the door. "Let me show you our best event halls and
introduce you to some of the coordinating staff. I think you'll
find it all very much to your liking."

About that he was very right. Adam showed
her to one room after the next, each larger and more elegant, more
ornate than the last. Every one had space for tables and chairs,
stages, whatever they would need, and was equipped with
state-of-the-art technology for any presentations they might want
to feature. Some rooms could accommodate up to a several thousand
guests.

"Oh, I don't think there'll be quite that
many," Sara said with a nervous little laugh, wondering how she
would handle an event of that magnitude.

"Don't be so sure," Adam replied. "From the
sound of it, this is going to be a big deal. Don't underestimate
the draw of a good humanitarian effort."

By the time they were through with the tour,
Sara had an armful of brochures and pricing guides for not just the
halls but the catering, for entertainment options, for anything and
everything the hotel could possibly offer. If she wanted to, she
could make this a one-stop shop—order it all at once and be done.
But she'd have to run that by Joan first. "So I'll give you a call
maybe early next week?" Adam asked as he walked Sara back out into
the still-busy lobby. She stopped and looked at him, her mind so
preoccupied that she barely knew what he meant. "Excuse me?"

He stopped, too, and clasped his hands
behind his back. "Pardon me," he said, realizing there had been
some sort of misunderstanding. "I mean about the gala. I'll give
you a call, see if you have any questions, if there's any more
information I can provide…"

"Oh, yes, thank you," Sara said now that she
understood. "Please do. I'll have had time to discuss it with my
colleagues by then."

Not knowing what else to say, she simply
stood there for a moment, shifting the paperwork clumsily from one
arm to the other. In the process a few brochures fluttered down to
the floor.

"Oh, please, allow me," Adam said then knelt
down and picked them up. Rising again, he held them out for Sara to
retrieve. "Listen, if you don't mind my asking, Sara, how long have
you lived in Dubai?"

She smiled at him. She was used to hearing
this question as well as asking it—expats were always interested in
other expats' experiences there. She had not discussed where she
was from with Adam but imagined he could tell by her accent.

"I moved here from Canada, oh, almost three
years ago," she replied.

Adam nodded, glancing out the window at the
busy city street. Cars were pulling up to the front of the hotel,
letting out passengers before the parking valets drove them
away.

Down the road he saw the Big Bus Tour
double-decker idling at the curb with "Tour of Dubai" written in
large letters on the side.

He looked back at Sara. "Have you ever been
on one of those?"

Sara glanced out at the bus. "No. Have
you?"

Adam laughed, now sounding a bit
self-conscious. Sara found this quite endearing.

"No, I haven't," he said, a rush of pink
suddenly coming to his cheeks. "But I watch them go by every day.
Some of the guests here have told me that they're pretty good.
Takes you by a lot of the tourist spots—you know, things you
wouldn't see in your day-to-day wanderings. You can hop on and hop
off at different locations."

Sara nodded, unsure where this line of
conversation was headed. "Sounds great."

Adam looked at her, just nodding his head.
Then, after a moment passed, he said, "Yeah, so, would you like to
go with me sometime? Maybe tomorrow? I was thinking about hopping
on one of the buses in the morning. Would you like to join me,
Sara?"

His sudden nervousness made Sara smile. But
his request, on the other hand, made her stomach drop. Was he
asking her out on a date? It sounded like it, but…no, she couldn't.
He was very nice and all and quite good looking, of course. But it
hadn't been even two weeks yet since she and Pierce had broken up.
It wouldn't be right to start seeing another man. She still had
things to figure out—what she wanted from life, what she wanted
from herself.

Wait. What am I doing?
she asked
herself. She took a deep breath to calm herself down. This was not
a big deal. This was not something to panic about. She was a grown
woman—a strong woman—and she had to move forward. She looked back
at Adam. He was watching her with his eyebrows raised, those lovely
light-brown eyes of his just about twinkling at her. He sure was
charming, she had to admit. And before she knew it—

"Yes, I'll go." There, she'd said it. "I'd
love to. What time should we meet?"