“Let’s scare up that senator from Virginia. He’s dying to get in your pants.” Liza’s eyes twinkled. Here was John Wayne again. The swaggering bravado of this woman! It was really endearing for her to think she could change anything about the situation with the board. But he had failed spectacularly, and now he would have to take his medicine. He supposed there was no harm in calling the senator to listen to Liza’s idea, though.

An hour later, they were huddled together in Dorsey’s kitchen. Dorsey kept eyeing the loft. He couldn’t remember if the cleaning service had been here today. Would the bed be made? Would Liza’s dress still be crumpled on the floor? Liza opened a laptop, and Dorsey realized she was speaking to him.

“Of course, you want to balance your desire to provide affordable units with the need to turn a profit, or at least not lose money.”

“Right.”

“Okay, so in doing my research for writing this proposal, I found out that the Department of Housing and Urban Development allocates low-income housing tax credits. The developers then offer the tax credits to investors. The IRS allows developers to deduct one dollar from their tax liability for each LIHTC they purchase.”

Dorsey nodded. He saw where she was going with this. It could be a win-win. Convert Netherfield Court to low-income housing units.

“The board is very adamant about wanting to build a relationship with the federal government. This is a shortcut,” Dorsey said. “Shit, Liza. I think it could work.”

The senator shook his head on the video call. “Why don’t you call me when you have a real plan.” His eyes followed the movement of Dorsey’s hand swiping Liza’s bangs out of her eye. “Is it true what everyone is saying? People saw you coming out of his apartment?”

Dorsey looked over to Liza, unsure of what he should say. “Senator, I don’t see how that’s relevant.”

“Because you’re obstinate and hardheaded. I told you two to do this months ago. This plays much better to those cautious council members. This is a feel-good story,” he said mostly to himself, “but investors usually claim LIHTCs over a ten-year period. Pemberley is going to need cash up front to bring a project to fruition.” He wanted to shut them down. But Dorsey could tell he was still thinking. Liza had sparked an idea in him. They were a perfect team. She had the vision; he had the money. He would make anything happen for her if she asked.

Dorsey tapped his bottom lip. “You can offer the credits through a syndicator who puts together a group of investors. The syndicate sells the rights to future credits for immediate funding.”

“Okay, this just may work, but federal LIHTCs don’t always cover the whole cost of developing low-income housing. We’re still in the hole,” Gigi said.