“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 asid
e 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.”