But, there was nothing “bar and grill” about this place. Dark wood, elegant fabrics, and pristine china. Extravagant floral arrangements that surely cost the monthly rent on her Sunset Boulevard studio. Starched waiters with impeccable manners. Patrons in Brooks Brothers suits and Dolce and Gabbana dresses.

The Gotham Bar and Grill was exactly what Lexi had originally dreaded. Though, she had to admit, Martina Galliano and her assistants, Beth and Casey, made it seem as if the restaurant was nothing more formal than a neighborhood café.

“I haven’t gotten a chance to see your designs in American Bride,” Casey said, drawing Lexi’s attention from a gilded mirror across the restaurant the size of her loft. The dark-haired, dark-eyed woman cast a sidelong smirk at Beth. “Someone’s been hogging the advanced copy you sent.”

“I’m not hogging it,” Beth said. “I told you I wasn’t going to let you get Cheetoh dust on the pages.”

Casey gasped, but grinned. “You lie.”

“No, she doesn’t,” Martina said, grinning from directly across the table from Lexi. “Why do you think I haven’t shared mine with you?”

“Fine, fine.” Casey lifted her brows and folded her hands with an expression of mock insult. “I’ll just have to wait for a week until it hits the shelves to get my own copy. But don’t be surprised if I call in sick that day.”

“I’ve told the girls all about how I’ve been watching you grow your business and develop a very sophisticated style for years,” Martina said.

The older woman hadn’t stopped complimenting Lexi since she’d hugged her on the sidewalk out in front of the restaurant like they were old friends. She was used to hearing customers, fashion reporters, and media rave about her work, but to hear Martina Galliano say these things to her would be the equivalent of Rubi being showered with praise by the likes of Steve Wozniak.

Martina was handsome—in that exotic Mediterranean way. Not beautiful, but attractive. And stylish, though Lexi could tell the woman lived a tug-of-war between her reputed natural tendency toward conservatism and the current, youthful trend of self-expression. The cut of her suit was too flippant and careless for her age, the extremely bright eggplant silk blouse a forced color spot beneath the cool silvery-blue suit jacket.

“I think the magazine might have been distributed to select locations early,” Lexi told Casey, reaching down for her portfolio beside her chair. “It wasn’t supposed to be circulated until next week, but I found it on stands in the airport. You can have this one.”

Casey gasped. “Really?”

“Of course.”

Casey squealed and clapped her hands. Lexi laughed.

“As you can tell,” Martina told Lexi, “they’re very excited about this new line.”

Casey thanked Lexi, her dark eyes caressing the image on the cover lovingly. She pulled in a gasp. “Look at that detail.” She pulled the magazine close and inspected the photograph. “Is that appliqué?”

“No,” Lexi said. “It’s all hand sewn.”

Casey’s eyes rounded. Her mouth curved in an O as she gazed at Lexi. “Hand. Sewn.”

Lexi grinned. “Thousands of Swarovski crystals in six different colors to create the ombré effect in the pattern.”

Casey’s eyes grew wider. Her mouth rounder. “Thousands?”

Lexi nodded. “They cover the entire bodice and blend into the top of the skirt.”

“I think you should do that for your final project,” Beth told Casey with a teasing look. “If you start now, you might finish by the due date.”

Casey choked out a laugh. “Yeah, a year would be about right.”

They must have been talking about some kind of final design project they had to complete before they graduated. Both women were juniors at Parsons the New School for Design in New York. The leading powerhouse in the fashion industry, Parsons had been Lexi’s fantasy college once upon a time. She’d been five or six when she’d realized she had as much chance of getting to college as her mother had of holding any job longer than three weeks, sobriety longer than three months, or a husband longer than three years.

At this stage of her life, Lexi wasn’t exactly jealous of the other women. She sure didn’t want to go backward. Lexi had paid heavy dues from a very early age to get where she was now. Had swept floors, delivered coffee, organized offices, cleaned lunchrooms. She’d pinned patterns until she needed a freaking blood transfusion from all the finger pricks. Had cut fabric until her hands ached so bad she couldn’t hold a toothbrush. Had sewn piecework until she thought her spine had fused into a permanent C. She’d also taught herself by reading and asking questions and researching. And designing, sewing, ripping out stitching, and doing it all over again.

But while she was at least ten years ahead of these women in experience, their degree from Parsons would always carry more weight with some people. Beth and Casey would always be considered better designers because they had that piece of paper from an institution. And Lexi would always be looked down upon because she didn’t. Which was another reason this partnership was so important to her. Because with hundreds of students like Beth and Casey graduating from programs like Parsons every year, if Lexi didn’t continue to move forward, achieve, and grow, others would trample her as they passed. And the longer she waited to do it, the more competition—educated competition—she’d have.

Lexi didn’t know how to do anything but design and sew. She knew a little about bookkeeping, a little about marketing, a little about customer service. But she didn’t know enough about anything to make a career out of it. And sewing for other people barely paid enough to eat, let alone rent an apartment in Los Angeles.

Besides, LaCroix Designs wasn’t just Lexi’s sole financial income. It was her identity. It was her happiness. It was her life. And sitting here with Martina Galliano, Beth, and Casey brought out every insecurity Lexi tried so hard to hide…and deny.

Casey turned narrowed eyes on Lexi. “How long did this take you?”

“The whole dress…four months.”

“And you know how much it cost?” Beth asked but didn’t wait for an answer. “Thirty thousand dollars.”

The look on Casey’s face made Lexi laugh. She looked at Martina. The woman was watching Beth and Casey with the affection of a mother.

Her gaze shifted to Lexi without moving her head. “Still not enough for all that work.”

Lexi shrugged. But she knew Martina was right.

“This partnership will change that, Lexi.”

Lord, finally. It had taken her long enough to get to the point.

A waiter appeared and set salads down in front of each of the four women. Lexi took the time to break from her intent train of thought. She glanced around the restaurant again, fatigue settling in. She thought of Jax and hoped he wasn’t tired. Hoped he wasn’t distracted. Didn’t like thinking about something happening to him because she’d kept his mind and body too busy with sex to get the rest he needed.

She reassured herself he was fine and smiled at the thought of stopping at the gorgeous lingerie shop she’d seen on her way here when she was done with this meeting. She wanted to pick up something special for tonight. After their amazing time together this morning, she just might be ready to turn on the lights.

He was so much more than she’d ever expected.

“Pepper, miss?”

Lexi looked up at the waiter standing beside her, an expectant look on his dark face. He was a slim man in his fifties and held a pepper cracker poised over her salad.

“Oh no,” Lexi said, “thank you.”

He moved on to Beth sitting on Lexi’s right. The young woman, Lexi guessed to be in her early twenties, enthusiastically accepted.

“I can’t wait to hear what you have planned,” Lexi said, waiting to pick up her fork until the waiter had peppered Casey’s salad and left the table.

Martina beamed. Her bronze skin glowed from within as her smile overtook her features. She set down her own fork and clapped her hands over her plate. “Oh, I just love talking about this. Poor Beth and Casey.” She sent both young women an apologetic smile. “They’ve had to listen to me nonstop for months.”

Lexi chewed a small bite of lettuce as Beth said, “We could listen to her talk forever.”

“Well, good. You girls just go ahead with your salads and I’ll do what I do best—talk.” Martina picked up her wine, ignoring her salad, and settled her gaze on Lexi. “Now, Beth and Casey will tell you that I rarely think or speak in a linear manner and I often veer off on tangents. But I generally get everything said that needs to be said, and there’s always time for questions.”

“Then I’ll understand everything,” Lexi said with a smile.

“Beth gave you an overview of what we’re trying to achieve,” Martina said, “a line of wedding dresses for the luxury wedding market.”

The phrase “luxury wedding market” had only recently been coined, and she didn’t know by whom. But the term had been showing up in all types of media more often over the past year.

“That would be a wedding with a budget of $100,000 or more,” Lexi confirmed.

“Exactly.” Martina’s eyes sparkled with excitement. “Our market research shows this is currently a nine-billion-dollar industry and that the number of these weddings has increased every year for the last decade. But the best part is that they’re forecast to double over the next five years.”

Lexi already knew this. In fact, she knew a lot more. She knew the market value of every type of wedding and what percentage of each type went toward the gown. She knew their forecasted growths for the next decade, knew their target customers, and had about two dozen other different breakdowns on the topics.

“We’re talking about gowns between fifteen and twenty-five thousand,” she confirmed. “Occasionally more.” When Martina nodded, Lexi asked a question there had been some debate over in business journals. “Do you think those forecasts are realistic considering the economy?”

“According to our research, for that target market, when a bride and/or the family of the bride are deciding how much to invest in that once-in-a-lifetime special day, the economy doesn’t come into play.”

Lexi thought of her own business and nodded. “I have to admit, I haven’t seen a decline in my business despite the ongoing economic crisis. I’ve attributed that to my high-end clientele. It seems that people with money always have money.” Lexi grinned. “That’s fantastic news for us, isn’t it?”

“Very.” Martina laughed. “But we’re looking at this market for more than just wedding dresses. The couples or the bride’s or groom’s parents often host events over a two- or three-day period. We’re looking at this as a multipronged sale, where one wedding dress turns into one wedding dress, half a dozen cocktail dresses, and a few honeymoon clubbing outfits or classy sundresses.