In January, Jody Sherman relocated his e-commerce company, Ecomom, from Los Angeles to a loft in a former bread factory in downtown Vegas. Sherman, who knew Hsieh from his years working around Internet companies, visited the project last fall. At first, Sherman recalled, “I said to myself, ‘I’m a surfer in Santa Monica; there’s no way I’m going to Las Vegas.’ ” Then he stood in Hsieh’s 23rd-floor apartment in the Ogden, a building overlooking downtown, and noticed a large wall in the living room covered with Post-it notes left by dozens of visitors. Each was a suggestion of what they would like to see in the upstart community. The ideas ranged from the simple (a good pizza joint) to the complex (accessible health care). Sherman started to visualize the kind of community that could support his still-young business. “I have a lot of imagination,” Sherman said. “I could see what he was planning. I could see it working.”

The project has since invested $600,000 in Ecomom, which has grown from 13 to 29 employees since Sherman arrived. (Sherman’s first ad for three customer-service employees drew more than 100 responses.) To do its part for the community, Ecomom has donated 75,000 organic meals to children, and Sherman has brought in new members to the project. Now he lives four floors below Hsieh, who leases 50 sleek, modern condominiums in the Ogden, 30 of which are maintained as “crash pads” for touring entrepreneurs. Hsieh calls the building the project’s secret weapon. “It basically tricks them into coming,” he told me. “And downtown basically sells itself.”

But luring entrepreneurs isn’t always so easy. One night, Hsieh and a few members of his team met with Jake Bronstein, who had come from New York seeking investment in his start-up apparel company, Flint and Tinder. Bronstein began the dinner meeting by describing several products he would like his line to make, including a “10-year sweatshirt” built to last a decade, and the conversation soon veered from granular details (the type of cotton, the size of the factory) to what each side expected from the deal. Bronstein said: “I don’t think I’m coming here saying, ‘I’m here, write me a check so I can come and live in your world.’ I’m interested in something more than money.” His salmon remained untouched as he fielded questions and comments from the project reps around the table. “Every factory in the world is doing everything to maximize R.O.I.” — return on investment — Hsieh said. “We’re doing everything to maximize R.O.C.”

“What’s R.O.C.?” Bronstein asked.

“Return on community,” Hsieh answered.

Then, after a few moments of banter, Bronstein confessed, quite abruptly: “Here’s the truth. I want to be involved. That’s why I came. I’m willing to talk around moving to Las Vegas; I just don’t want to do that right now. I have a wife. I have a big dog. I can’t walk in and say, ‘I’ll sell you 30 percent; I’m moving here.’ ” The deal appeared less likely by the minute.

Fred Mossler, a former Nordstrom shoe buyer who has been with Hsieh since the early Zappos days, tried to get things back on track. “I think you’re going to want to live here after about two years,” he said. “You’ll start understanding what we’re talking about.” Hsieh suggested the possibility of Bronstein’s coming once every month and staying for a week. The conversation started to turn. Within a few minutes, a dollar amount ($250,000) and terms of investment were traded across the table. After dinner, the group walked a few blocks for drinks at the Downtown Cocktail Room, which also served as the project’s de facto office. Bronstein asked, “So how do we finish the deal?” Hsieh answered, “I believe we just did.”