So that’s where he was when she’d looked for him—and not even with Davonte along. At least, Marianne thought, it was a business meeting. Marianne leaned close to Eric. “Why does she care how well our students do? Didn’t you say we’d be better off looking at their ability to pay the bills and not even worry about writing talent?”

Eric shook his head. “That isn’t what I said. But they’re interested because Davonte’s success will help us grow the school. It’ll help us get more applications, it’ll justify raising tuition and open up other markets. Look, you should be happy. I told Regina that you were the one who found him, who argued for admitting him. She said you had real foresight.”

“I’m so proud.”

“She’s also booking a photographer to take some pictures.”

“Of the students? Don’t you need their permission?”

“Yeah, but mostly of Davonte.” Eric lowered his voice. “She and Davonte both pointed out our diversity problem. Maybe some photographs that show a more inclusive environment—”

Marianne felt her face reddening. “That doesn’t seem like a top priority for GWGW.”

Eric shrugged. “It’s kind of obvious—the bigger your applicant pool, the more successful you’ll be. Plus the readership of popular Christian literature—the readership of Davonte’s book, for example—will be highly diverse.”

“And what about diversity scholarships? Fellowships? Did she talk about funding those? Or expanding the advertising beyond Southern Baptist church newsletters?”

Eric didn’t answer.

“And Davonte’s book,” she said. “Don’t you mean your book? Why is the coffee here so terrible? How is it possible that I founded a whole school and the most important thing to me is substandard?”

“Coffee is the most important thing to you.”

“It’s up there.”

Eric snorted, then got out his manuscripts for the day and thumbed through them. “I don’t know what you’re so upset about. I’m the one who’s got to write this thing.”

“What’s it like? I mean, the parts you’ve read?”

“It’s like an AA meeting, with pornography. Bragging about misdeeds, then a bunch of pious blathering. But apparently that’s a whole genre now. Regina calls it ‘romance and redemption.’”

“Regina,” said Marianne, downing the rest of her coffee. “So what’s her story?”

“Divorced,” said Eric absently. “Two kids. Had ’em when she was really young. Very type A. For fun she bakes competitive gingerbread houses. That’s her hobby. She’s won, like, three national competitions.”

Marianne laughed. She pictured Regina with an X-Acto knife and a tube of frosting, elbowing her kids out of the way. “That’s intense. Tom thought you might have the hots for her.”

“Tom is an old pervert,” said Eric. “Who has the hots for you, by the way.”