“So,” Clara said, opening the notebook resting on the table. “Can you run me through the challenges your synagogue is facing?”

“Oh. Sure.” Ethan took his seat. “Well, when I became the rabbi a little over a year ago, the congregation was losing members at a steady rate of twenty percent or so every year. Since I’ve been with Beth Elohim, we’ve slowed the leak, but I haven’t been able to turn things around completely using traditional tactics like promoting our Intro to Judaism course in local ads.”

“I see.” Clara jotted down some notes. “And I’m guessing you’ve got aggressive recruitment targets?”

“Aggressive is putting it mildly.” The synagogue was bleeding money. “The executive board has strongly suggested that if I can’t show significant increases in membership in the next six months, they’re going to start looking for prospective buyers.” Ethan didn’t mention that his recent altercation with Jonathan had probably moved that date up considerably.

Clara nodded. “And you figured the biggest opportunity comes from people who are currently unaffiliated versus trying to poach?”

“Yes. One, I wouldn’t feel right trying to steal members from another synagogue in the city, but two, I’d lose. We don’t have anywhere near the kind of resources Endmore Boulevard can tap into, for example.” He’d grown up going to that synagogue. They had incredible facilities and membership in the thousands. If he was lucky and worked his ass off, Beth Elohim might get there in ten to twenty years.

“Going after nonaffiliated Jews is an uphill battle but, I’m pretty sure, our only shot,” Ethan continued. “Synagogues all over the country are struggling to appeal to younger members, but ours has an especially tough time because our current congregation skews toward the other end of the spectrum. I figured I’d need to change our offering to appeal to people under the age of sixty, so I went looking for innovative educators and met Naomi.”

“Drastic times call for drastic measures.” The woman in question set down three drinks—Ethan’s tea and two iced coffees—before passing one of the latter to Clara with a very pointed look of warning.

“Well.” Clara leaned forward to take a sip. “I must say the two of you make quite the pair. What was it you used to teach, Ethan? Chemistry?”

“Physics,” he corrected, while Naomi sat with her arms crossed and her back to the wall, surveying the entire coffee shop like Tony Soprano and refusing to rise to what he suspected was bait from her friend.

“Ah yes. That’s right.” Clara let out a little hum around her straw. “Well, I certainly think we can do some press outreach. If you don’t mind me saying,” she told Ethan, “you’ve got human-interest piece written all over you.”

Naomi grunted into her beverage while Ethan covered his embarrassment with his cup.

“You know.” Clara tapped her pen against the table while she considered. “I think that’s where I’ll start. Pitching profiles and interviews. LA Mag’s preparing their list of hottest bachelors. You are single, aren’t you?”

“Clara,” Naomi said sharply.

“What?” Clara raised a shoulder, the picture of innocence. “I’m just asking so I know how to frame the narrative.”

Naomi gripped her coffee so hard her knuckles went white. “Focus on the synagogue and the seminar series.”

Ethan had spent most of his life surrounded by powerful women, but Naomi and Clara might be the most intimidating pair he’d ever encountered. This was due, largely, to the fact that they seemed to be conducting a silent, private conversation right in front of him. It was like watching a high-stakes tennis match conducted primarily through eyebrow raises and mouth twitches.

He wasn’t going to be the one to suggest it, but they’d likely make a killing as a team of con artists.

“Oh, fine.” Clara flipped over to a clean page in her notebook. “What type of promotion have you done for the series so far?”

Ethan shifted in his seat. “Well, I sent an email to our synagogue’s discussion list and posted the events on our website, as well as reaching out to some local Hillel groups at UCLA and USC.” It wasn’t much, but between his normal duties and all the new programming he’d added, marketing was so far down on his overflowing to-do list, it was a miracle he’d accomplished that much.

Clara circled something in her notebook. “So, you haven’t contacted any members of the media?”

He peeled the cardboard holder off his cup. “No. Not yet. You think we should?”

Naomi bristled. “I might not have the same lurid appeal as I used to—opening an LLC will do that to a girl—but I’m pretty sure the idea of partnership between a sex worker and a rabbi is worth at least page six.”

Ethan took a big swallow of his tea. Hearing her lay it all out was . . . a lot. He stood by Naomi and their work completely, but he wasn’t naive enough to think the Internet would give them the benefit of the doubt.

“You’re nervous about what the board will say if this gains too much attention,” Naomi said, trying to read his face.

That wasn’t even half of it. Mostly, he didn’t want anyone to punish Naomi for teaching for him the way they had at every other institution she’d approached. But he guessed the last thing she’d want to hear was that he wanted to protect her.