“And that’s just for the bride. There’s always the mother of the bride, the bridesmaids, the flower girls.” Martina motioned in a circle with her wineglass. “You know how these things blossom.”

“I sure do,” Lexi murmured before sipping her own wine. She toyed with another piece of salad, but she was only eating to be polite. Even though she was hungry, she was too excited, too nervous to eat.

“Which brings me to the details about the designs we’re looking for in this line,” Martina said.

“The brides in this target market are slightly older.” Lexi set down her fork and spoke with authority and confidence. This was her area of expertise. This was her business. This was the reason Martina had come to her, and she was going to make sure her strong points shone. “Between twenty-eight and thirty-two. Whether they’re paying for the wedding with their fiancé or their parents are paying, they are savvy, demanding, and know what they want—over-the-top, unique, sophisticated couture—possibly haute couture—designs with a traditional flair. The most popular colors would be ivory, champagne, and light metallics, but white is a must.”

Martina’s lips parted. Her dark eyes widened. “Yes. Exactly.” She sent an excited glance at each of her assistants. “Didn’t I tell you she would be perfect?”

Lexi picked up her wine for a sip, feeling a little more confident.

“Now, I know it’s early,” Martina said, “but we’ve got an amazing marketing and sales department, and after pitching the line, we’ve been assured a spot in Barney’s, Bloomingdale’s, Lord and Taylor, Saks Fifth Avenue, Neiman Marcus, Bergdorf Goodman, and Nordstrom.”

Lexi choked on her wine and covered her mouth with her napkin. Beth and Casey laughed easily.

“Oh my,” Lexi finally got out.

She’d known Galliano’s would have reach, but this…

“You’re a big part of why they were interested,” Martina said. “Part of the pitch included showing your spread in American Bride.”

Lexi moved her hand to her chest. A mix of humility and pride swelled beneath her breastbone and stole her breath. Martina grinned, her eyes warm, as if she understood what that meant to Lexi.

“And that’s only the initial tier of distribution.” Martina picked up her fork and nudged the rabbit food around on her plate. “We’ve already nailed down several hundred high-end, specialty boutiques we’ll approach once the release date comes closer.”

Lexi’s mind was spinning. Once she had an in with these locations, she could approach them to talk about carrying her gowns independently of Galliano’s.

For the first time in two decades, Lexi could envision a future where she wasn’t working fourteen-hour days. Where she got to the gym, the grocery store. Where she went to a movie, out on a date.

Her mind darted back to Jax. Her whole body warmed at the thought of sharing her excitement. And she couldn’t freaking wait to tell him.

The waiter came and replaced their salad plates with entrees. The conversation shifted between personal and professional topics and flowed easily. By the time the check arrived, the four of them were laughing and chatting like long-time friends, and Lexi was 500 percent invested in this project.

Martina slid her credit card into the check folder. “Beth, Casey, would you ladies mind bringing the car around while I tie up a few things with Lexi?”

They each hugged her before bubbling all the way out the door.

“They’re wonderful,” Lexi said, watching them until they turned a corner and disappeared.

“They are,” Martina agreed. “Everyone at the company is really fabulous. I’m so fortunate.”

“Sounds like you’re also a very smart businesswoman.”

“As are you, Lexi.” She clasped her hands in front of her on the table and met Lexi’s eyes, a serious expression filling her own. “Which is just one more reason you are my first choice.”

“First choice?” The warmth simmering in Lexi’s body cooled. “Are you…considering alternate designers for this venture?”

Martina sat forward. “If it was up to me, my decision would be made. I’ve admired your ingenuity, craftsmanship, and business savvy for years. But…” She lifted her palms toward the ceiling. “A corporation this size is really run by a board of directors. Of course, they take my input, which carries significant weight, but with others involved, nothing is ever as cut and dried as when a company is smaller and run by a sole proprietor, like LaCroix Designs.”

“I see.” A sick feeling nudged aside all the excitement and hope Lexi had been enjoying just moments ago. “What are you basing your decision on?”

Martina nodded. “Yes, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about. It’s quite informal actually, and not a true competition at all.”

Competition.

Lexi’s stomach soured. The word conjured images of backbreaking hours at a sewing machine, bloody fingers, burning eyes, tears, years ticking off her life span.

She’d spent many years entering competitions. They’d been a valuable way to get noticed when she’d been nobody. Even more valuable for Lexi because she lacked a formal design education. But she’d gladly given them up long ago.

“You and the other two designers the board chose to consider are all participating in the Luxe Couture Bridal Fashion Show this year,” Martina said. “Several key members from the board will be there and will put in their vote for the designer they prefer at that time.”

Shock speared Lexi’s stomach. “This year? You mean the one in three months?”

“I know its short notice, but Lexi…” She reached out and covered Lexi’s hand with hers. “Your designs are so extraordinary, whatever you already have planned for the show will outshine your competitors. All I would suggest is that you add a few gowns that reflect the luxury wedding market we’re targeting.”

Add a few gowns. At the luxury-wedding-market level. In three months.

Lexi’s brain blurred as if she’d run headlong into a door.

Then the ten custom gowns she’d already promised clients crowded her mind, and the next three months flashed in her head like a slide show. Takeout food cluttering her desk, fabric filling her loft until she couldn’t find anything. Sleepless nights, bleeding fingers, headaches. Days without showering, haircuts, the gym. A frustrated Rubi. Irritable employees.

Jax.

Her shoulders fell two inches. Her stomach burned.

She dragged her thoughts away from all she’d be sacrificing—after she’d already spent years sacrificing—and directed it back to what she’d have to do to win. She knew all the designers signed up for the Luxe Couture show, and every one was her equal—or well beyond. Martina was either full of shit or completely clueless. Lexi couldn’t believe the woman was either.

“And my competition would be…?” Lexi asked.

Martina pulled her hand back and threaded her fingers together. “The board has decided not to share that information.”

Lexi laughed. The sound surprised her. She hadn’t known it was coming. And she’d never heard the edge it held now. Something inside her was alerted, like one of those cars with a backup buzzer that goes off when the bumper gets too close to an object. The alarm in her head was screaming she was too close to the edge of a cliff.

“I don’t even know who I’m up against?” Lexi asked.

“The board feels that because this is such a small industry, the competition could create ill will among designers.”

That was just plain stupid. “We’ll know afterward. If someone’s going to get pissed off, not knowing ahead of time isn’t going to change that. And honestly, that’s a rather immature view. Everyone showing at Luxe is at the top of their game, Martina. Consummate professionals.”

“I love that about you, Lexi. I love the way you stick up for others in the industry, even when you’re going head-to-head with them. That is a consummate professional.”

“Are you saying the others aren’t?”

Martina laughed, the sound relaxed and easy, as if this was truly no big deal. Which, in light of what a damn big deal this was to Lexi, only pissed her off.

“No, that’s not what I’m saying. I love that too, the way you’re so up-front. Say it like it is.”

Jesus fucking Christ. Lexi’s whole future had just plummeted to hell. Her stomach ached like she had a rock lodged at the very bottom. She picked up her wine and took a long swallow to loosen her tight throat.

She’d been too invested. She’d wanted it too much. She hadn’t held anything back and gotten blindsided. Martina continued to chatter about the competition as they stood and walked toward the front door.

“The board will be looking for all the same things they do in normal competitions—things like creativity, ingenuity, craftsmanship, fit to the target market.” She grinned over her shoulder. “Everything at which you excel.”

Lexi forced a smile, but her mood had taken a severe dive. A spear of anger sliced deep in her heart to ease the pain of fear and loss. Lexi fought to keep a tight cover on it.

She exited the restaurant, squinting into the sun. Dazed from her fall off cloud nine.

“I’ll contact you with all the partnership information,” Martina said. She stopped when she reached the sidewalk and said, “Oh, Lexi, there is one more thing I wanted to mention.”

She took another hit to the gut. Martina’s tone of voice and the way she’d left whatever this was until last was not a good sign.

“The board did a full background on all the candidates, just like we do on all our employees.”

Lexi’s jaw loosened, and she barely kept her mouth from falling open. An icy fist hit her chest, and the chill spread outward. All the shadows from her past pinged through her mind. Her white-trash roots, her dysfunctional family, her loser boyfriends…

“And it came to their attention that you frequent a few…racy…clubs in Los Angeles,” Martina went on, stunning Lexi with an unexpected left cross, “with a friend, a Rubi Russo.”

A protective instinct surged forward and made that spear of anger burn white-hot. Lexi crossed her arms and clenched her teeth. “That kind of intrusion into my life is completely unacceptable.”

Yet even as she said it, fear burned across her chest. Fear of losing this opportunity. Even while she wondered if she still wanted it.

“Lexi.” Martina softened her voice, but her gaze remained steady. “I know you are careful about your reputation. You have a very specific clientele, one that often puts you in the spotlight. That is exactly the same situation we’re looking at creating here and one of the big reasons you’re such a promising candidate for this line.

“We’re talking about selling dresses to tycoon’s daughters. People who can be choosy about who they do business with and why. Look at it from Galliano’s point of view. It’s taken us decades to build our reputation in the fashion industry. When we attach our name to yours and your name is somehow tainted, we could have millions of dollars’ worth of dresses hanging on racks that no one will touch because of one visit to the wrong club, one meet-up with the wrong people. Our board is concerned for the future of the line as well as the reputation of Galliano’s.