“What did you do, Killian, sign up for baking classes after the divorce?”

I tense at my friend Vince’s familiar voice, coming from the doorway of the kitchen in which I’m currently sweltering. “Are you gonna just stand there, or you gonna help?” I ask, keeping my tone even-keeled as I squint at the cake before me.

The thing is ridiculous. Hot pink, covered in flowers around the sides—flowers I had to buy and hand-stick into that damn icing, I’ll have you know. It’s the last thing you’d expect to find a guy like me holding—a guy so swamped with office work that right now I’m using the industrial kitchen the office chefs normally patrol in order to bake the damn thing. I had to pay off Marco to let me use the place, and he’s still hovering, all protective and worried I’m gonna mess up his kitchen.

Which I guess is fair. It’s not like I’m an expert baker or anything.

“Help with what?” Vince barks out a laugh. “Piping those crooked-ass letters you’re squiggling all over the place.”

“They’re not crooked!” I straighten and squint at the cake.

Damn. He’s right. The letters I’ve done so far—HAPPY BIRT—are all out of proportion to the rest of the cake, and slanting across the surface. I groan and drop the hot pink icing bag onto the counter-top. “Fuck. Think I can start over?”

“By doing what, smearing pink all over that white base layer I primed for you?” Marco shouts from his office nearby.

“Why don’t you just hire someone to do all this, dude?” Vince stares at me, one eyebrow raised like I’m nuts. Maybe I am.

“I just want to make this perfect, ok? It’s for Lina.” My baby girl. My whole world. She’s turning five, and I want to make this party her best birthday ever. Especially since I’ve had so little time with her lately. I’ve been working overtime, and even though I make sure to see her on weekends—at least, the weekends I get with her—I still haven’t had nearly enough father-daughter time for my liking.

If I had my way, she’d spend every minute with me. But of course, that’s not how that works. Especially not since the divorce. Since I have to share custody—albeit part-time, since she only gets every-other-weekend visitations—with She Who Shall Not Be Named.

My baby is growing up so fast, I have to make the most of the time I get to spend with her. Especially for her birthday. Even if that means staying late at the office and keeping the kitchen open late so I can bake a little girl’s birthday cake.

“You could hire someone do it perfectly,” Vince points out, still squinting at me from the doorway. “C’mon, you’re gonna miss happy hour over this?”

I shake my head and wave him away. “You guys go on without me. I’m gonna be having an early night anyway; I have to pick up Lina from her place in the morning.”

“You’d think the thought of running into that bitch would be enough to make you need a drink,” Vince mutters, and I press my lips into a thin line, tempted by many years of experience to defend my ex-wife, even now.

“Don’t call her a bitch,” I reply. “She’s still the mother of my child.”

“Maybe, man, but she after the shit she fucking pulled on you—”

“Just.” I stifle a groan. I try to remind myself she doesn’t deserve to be defended. Not after she tried to take my baby from me entirely. So I just shake my head. “Just go enjoy happy hour. Tell everyone else I’ll see them at the one next month.”

Vince salutes me. “Good luck with the fucking unicorns, boss.”

I glance over at the table, just now remembering the other cake toppers I bought. As Vince heads out, I groan and lean my elbows on the table, staring at the unopened package of unicorns and the big glitter number five suspended between them. Vince can be a complete fucking asshole, but maybe he’s right. Maybe I do need help here. And there’s one very obvious way to get help. One solution I hadn’t thought of. I could get some outside help. Hire someone, at least to help with the big aspects of the party itself.

I run my hand through my hair and lean over to glance into Marco’s office.

“Don’t look at me.” Marco shrugs one shoulder. “Not my circus to orchestrate.”

I bite back a sigh. You’re doing this for Lina, I remind myself. I’d do anything for my little girl. Anything to make her birthday the best damn party in the world.

So, against my better judgment, I set aside the baking tools to make a phone call.

* * *

I’m standing in the hallway of a house full of screaming five-year-olds, and there’s no sign of this party planner yet.

This was a mistake, I keep thinking as I attempt to corral the girls into the backyard. “Come on, let’s check out the games out back!” I say, steering them toward the kiddie pool we’ve set up and the various bubble wands and hula-hoops scattered all over the place.

Lina marches up to me, however, in the middle of this attempt, and tugs on my sleeve. “Where’s the princess, Daddy?”

I beam at her and crouch down to pull her into a quick hug. “You’re the princess today, Lina. It’s your birthday, after all!”

She pouts and crosses her arms, not having any of it. “I mean the real one. Mommy said you were going to have a princess plan my party, because you were too good to do it yourself.”

I grit my teeth, though I continue to force a smile. “Is that what Mommy told you?”

“Yes, but I know the real reason.” Lina leans in, grinning at me conspiratorially, the way she does whenever she has a secret. She cups her hands, and I bend down so she can whisper in my ear, like we always do. “It’s cause you wanted to make sure she teaches me how to be a real princess, isn’t it?”

I wrap her in a tight hug and ruffle her hair. “Exactly, Princess Lina. You need a princess to teach you everything you’ll need to know about princessing—especially now that you’re a whole five years old.”

Her eyes go wide. She’s grinning ear-to-ear. It’s a bright enough smile that I can almost forget how mad I am at my ex for talking shit about me in front of her. I never say a bad word about that woman to Lina, even after everything she’s done. Because I know better. She’s still Lina’s mother, whatever she’s done to me in the meantime. But she’s another story. She doesn’t hesitate to throw every fight we’ve ever had at our little girl like a weapon.

Lina scampers off to join her friends, squealing with delight, and I stand to smile at a handful of the other parents dotting the lawn. Rick, Lina’s best friend Stacey’s father, comes over to pat my shoulder. “The help running late?” he jokes.

“This is why I didn’t want to hire a planner in the first place.” I cross my arms.

He laughs. “Impossible to hire good assistants these days. Everyone in that age group is just lazy, entitled…” He goes off on a rant about kids these days, and I remind myself that Rick is in a whole different age category than me. I’ve only just turned 35; we had Lina relatively young compared to some people. Rick is pushing 50, and it shows whenever he gets into these kinds of rants. “I mean, you understand, don’t you, Killian?” he says, and I blink, not having been paying attention to anything he was just rambling on about.

“Understand what again, Rick?”

“Well, you might be young, but you must see that kids these days don’t work the way they used to. I mean, not you obviously, you’re the exception, but…”

The exception, because I built my media startup from the ground into a multimillion dollar company, of which I’m now the CEO. If you ask me, though, compared to a lot of my startup buddies back in San Fran, I’m not anywhere near exceptional. “I think you’re confusing kids these days with young adults running their own companies.” I slap his back and head over to the food table to grab a handful of pretzels. Something to tide me over, in case this assistant never fucking shows.

Just then, I hear the doorbell, and I duck out of the backyard in relief, though only after making sure a decent number of the other adults attending have their eyes on the girls wreaking havoc back there.

I reach the door, wrench it open…

And freeze in the doorway, as if I’ve just been elbowed in the gut. Because fuck, I did not expect the Party Princess to be… well…

Hot.

“Sorry I’m late,” says the young woman on my doorstep hurriedly as she steps around me, not even waiting for me to invite her in. She’s wearing a giant puffy pink gown, with a sparkling tiara on top, and so much candy-colored makeup that I’m surprised her lips can actually move—they look like little hard candy lollipops stuck to her face.

“This must be our Birthday Princess!” Her voice shoots up an octave as she sinks to her knees beside me, and I turn around to see Lina racing through the house toward her.

Well. Toward me. Lina always has a shy streak the first time she meets strangers, even a stranger she’s been this excited about. Lina collides with the back of my legs and hides her behind them. “Are you the Party Princess?” she asks the backs of my knees.

“I am.” The girl glances from Lina up to me, her smile widening.

Underneath all the ridiculous princess makeup, she’s clearly a bombshell. Probably in her mid-twenties, with thick blonde hair piled high on her head under that tiara, a couple curls of which frame either side of her heart-shaped face. She’s got huge blue eyes, and for a second, when our gazes lock, her prettily perfect mouth goes sideways in a sly grin, as if she can read my mind, and she’s thinking the same thing.

Thinking dirty thoughts about how I’d like to see her without that crazy dress on. Without any dress on. How I’d like to wipe that makeup off her face and then claim that pert, pouted little mouth of hers for my own.

Fuck. What is wrong with me?

I suck in a deep breath and tear my gaze from her. She’s still smirking as she turns back to Lina, asking how old she’s turning today and if she’s excited for her big party. Eventually Lina sneaks out from behind me to chat to the girl, which is impressive, because I’ve never seen my daughter warm up to anybody else so quickly. Usually it takes her days to get over her shyness.

When Lina runs off squealing to gather her friends out back, the Party Princess stands back up and touches my arm lightly, her small hand lingering on my wrist long enough for me to feel how velvety soft her skin is. She leans in close so her breath ghosts against my cheek.

“I’m so sorry about running late. I almost hit a dog—had to swerve almost off the road to avoid him. And he was limping, so then I had to corral him and take him over to my friend’s rescue facility…” She tilts her head, studying my expression. “Don’t worry, though, he was fine.”

So are you, I think. “I’m glad,” I say, forcing myself not to stare too long at her plump lips, or the way they part as her gaze flickers toward my mouth, too. I clear my throat. “Don’t worry about being late. Lina’s just been having fun with her friends outside.”

“She’s the sweetest thing. Absolutely adorable.” The girl catches my eye and her smile widens. “Your wife must really love having a little girl to spoil.”

“I’m not married,” I reply, lifting a single brow.

Nope, I definitely am not imagining the heat in this girl’s eyes. “Oh, well.” A faint blush hits her cheeks, and she ducks her head. “Sorry to bring it up—”

“Don’t be. You’re right, anyway—I do love spoiling Lina. A little too much, actually. But can you blame me?” I step closer to her, and she mirrors me, her hand still resting on mine. For a second, the air between us charges with electricity, and we’re both locked on one another, gazing into each other’s eyes.

“Not one bit,” she whispers, and her lashes flutter, as her eyes drop to take in my lips again.

What I wouldn’t give to have met her in a different situation. Out at a bar some night, where I could just lean in and tell her what I want to do to her. Brush that stray lock of hair behind her ear, then trail my fingertip along her jawline. Tilt her head back, bend down and claim those perfect pink lips all for my own…

She clears her throat, and I step back, realizing where we are. She seems to remember at the same moment I do, and squares her shoulders. “Right. Well. Ah… I should get out there, to the party.”

“Right. Of course.” I smile and extend a hand. “Killian, by the way.”

She blushes again, and I love the way she bites her lip, as though embarrassed. “Tilly.” She wraps her fingers in mine—my hand practically swallows hers whole, she’s so tiny. But she grips my palm firmly, shakes once, and steps back to smooth her skirts with a grin. “It’s great to meet you, Killian.” Then she spins around to head through the house to the backyard, and I trail after, still dumbstruck.

What the hell just happened?

And more than that… how screwed am I now?

* * *

I’m standing with a circle of the dads—some from the neighborhood whose kids have grown up with Lina, and a few from my office with kids of their own who go to school with her.

On the far side of the yard, Lina and the other kids surround Tilly in an excited huddle, tugging on her skirts for attention, their faces eager as she crowns them each one at a time. Every girl gets a different sparkly tiara, and every boy gets a different golden crown, which shine so bright my eyes hurt just looking at them.

She’s instructing them on the game they’re going to play next, some new version of tag with dragons and knights and princess—or, in Lina’s case, “Princess Knights”, because she wants to be one of the people chasing the dragons. I’m grinning ear-to-ear, and not only because Lina is happier and more excited than I’ve seen her in weeks.

It’s also because I can’t help being impressed by how easily Tilly guides the herd of kids. I know it’s her job and all, so I shouldn’t be that surprised she likes kids, but it’s been a long time since I’ve seen a woman act like this with Lina. Joking, winking, leaning down to whisper secrets in her ear—but sharing those secrets with the other girls too, so nobody gets too jealous or upset.

She’s a natural at this. I watch her shout to start the game, and the kids scatter, and she straightens. Now, my thoughts trip back to the place they skirted around in the hallway.

Because just based on the way she moves, the way her hips sway and she stretches her arms comfortably, I can tell she’s at ease in her own body. Sexy in a simple, uncomplicated way—she’s not showing off or trying to lure anyone in. This is just how she is, naturally.

And it’s damn fucking attractive. I can’t stop thinking about what she must look like without the Party Princess getup. I can’t stop thinking about how I’d like to tear all that off her, catch her alone in my room and toss that dress on the floor, then kneel in front of her and press a kiss to her soft belly, my mouth moving lower as she drops her hands to bury them in my hair and gasp in that sexy, soft voice she has…

Then, almost as though she can feel my stare, Tilly turns around and flashes me a grin across the yard. It’s a cocky, off-center grin. The kind of smile that tells me she knows exactly what kind of trouble she’s causing.

I grit my teeth. Any more of this and I’m going to have to find a quiet corner to sit in until my body calms the fuck down. Until all the blood in my head stops racing straight to my dick.

Beside me, Bill from accounting coughs and casts an eye around the yard for his wife. “Damn. If I’d known you hired such fucking hot entertainment, Killian, I’d have come to this party solo. Please tell me the princess is staying for an adults-only show after this.”

All that blood racing south reroutes in an instant and pounds through my temples instead. I ball my fists and round on him. “What the hell is wrong with you, Bill?”

“Whoa.” He takes a step back, hands raised, his eyes wide with surprise. “Hey, I was just joking, Kill.”

“Don’t talk about her like that,” I spit.

To my annoyance, his surprise melts into something worse. A sort of confident, knowing smirk. “Oh I see how it is. Party girl’s already spoken for. My bad.”

“That’s not—” I sputter to a halt and clear my throat hard. “It is not appropriate to speak about women like that, Bill. She’s just doing her job. How would you like it if someone said that kind of shit about your daughter once she’s all grown up?”

He scowls, the smirk melting away. “You know, you used to be fun, Kill. Back before all this crap.” He waves a hand at the yard.

“This crap? My daughter happens to be the most important thing in my life,” I respond, voice pitched low. A couple of the other guys glance our way, but I don’t care. I glare at Bill. “Not my fault you didn’t change at all when you had a child. You should figure out what’s really important to you, Bill.”

He storms away from me, stung. I couldn’t care less. I watch him beeline into the house toward the fridge where I keep beers for the adult party guests. Let him stew, who cares.

One of the other guys, a father I don’t know too well, one of Lina’s friends from school, sidles up to me. “Thanks for saying something,” he murmurs. “I think most of us wanted to.”

I force out a laugh then, and shake my head, before I move away from the cluster of guys. What the hell was that, anyway? I know Bill likes to say that kind of shit. Normally it doesn’t get to me.

But hearing him say it about her…

I glance across the yard to Tilly. She’s joined in the game she started, and is currently being chased by Lina, the latter of whom has a plastic sword in her hand she’s brandishing with an almost tribal yell. I swallow hard, throat dry, unable to tear my gaze from Tilly’s face, lit by the bright sun overhead, her mouth open in an ecstatic laugh, her blue eyes flashing.

She is fucking gorgeous. Perfect.

At that moment, our eyes lock again, and she flashes me a wink, right there in front of half the yard. At that moment, I know in my gut I’m fucking screwed.