Would people be surprised that a man like him would date so far outside his social circle? Sure. But the people that thought they were in his social circle never were.

What would he really be giving up? Invites to country clubs? Golf tournaments? Charity balls? Could Liza suffer such terrible company when he, who was expected to join in at these events, could barely be bothered? Dorsey was feeling more and more confident about his plan. Go straight for logic. Go straight for the benefits. Smooth over the doubts.

He imagined Liza would probably need some convincing. He knew she didn’t enjoy living with her mother, so maybe he could talk about a new apartment—anything that would make her get over any misgivings.

She probably never dreamed she would be the center of a Cinderella story. She would also probably prefer to keep their relationship quiet until this whole Netherfield deal was done. Whatever Isaiah had said to convince Liza that their fight was winnable was the worst kind of lie. But the worst kind of lies were Isaiah’s specialty. What made women fall for such bullshit artists? Netherfield was a fait accompli. Liza had effectively slowed it down to a crawl, but she could never really stop it. Maybe he could build a community center next door? She might take this defeat hard, mostly because Isaiah had deluded her into thinking she could win. But he thought of a million ways to ease her out of her anger. When the car came to its gentle stop, he was still semi-erect with Liza’s too-tight shirt stretched across his broad chest. When the driver opened the door and frowned, Dorsey beamed back and shrugged. He had learned from Liza that the driver’s name was Raymond.

“Have a good night, Raymond.”

Chicho was pissed, and Liza could see it.

“Girl, I am so sorry.”

“Liza, it’s four in the morning.” Chicho leaned against the sofa.

“I know.” Liza fidgeted with her shirt.

“And you smell like liquor and cologne.”

Liza grabbed a bottle of water from the kitchen. Her knees were shaking. She was still seeing stars. If she came like that with an appetizer the entree would kill her.

“Whose shirt is that? Park’s?”

“Chicho, I’m so sorry. I know tomorrow is really important for you.” Liza leaned against the wall.

“I know,” Chicho mumbled. “I’m not mad. Well, I am, but not for a reason you think. I wanted to hang out with Joseph Park too. The food at the senator’s was so terrible. I just knew Park was gonna prepare some fancy food for you.” Chicho raised a curious eyebrow. “You smell like you had fun.”

“No, no, that’s fish sauce.” Liza was mortified.

“Of course it’s fish sauce. What kind of fun did you think I was talking about?” Chicho and Liza shared their first genuine laugh in three months. “What did Joseph make?”