“I know.” Emily nodded as if that made perfect sense. “That’s why I let her help me.”

“A wise decision,” the man said. And that, it seemed, was the final word on the subject. There were no lectures about wandering off on her own, no words of warning about what could happen to a little girl who trusted any crackpot in pink tulle. He merely shifted his daughter to his hip and continued his appraisal of Lila.

It wasn’t an unappreciative appraisal, but she wasn’t sure what she was supposed to do about it. There was something about the man’s glinting blue eyes and slow, spreading grin that shot like an arrow straight through her. Okay, so she wasn’t some six-foot underwear model in a well-cut tuxedo. Her jaw wasn’t a chiseled shadow that had been timed to remain steadfast at five o’clock. She didn’t have the sexy beginnings of gray starting to take over the winged sides of her well-sculpted brown hair…

“I’m sorry—did you say something?” She blinked as the man’s grin deepened.

“Yes. I asked your name, but you weren’t finished yet.” He cast a look down at himself and gave a rueful shake of his head. “Ridiculous, isn’t it? I feel like a penguin. But the invitation said black tie, so black tie it is. Emily’s a stickler for the rules. So, what is it?”

She blinked again. “The dress code?”

“Your name.”

“Oh, um. It’s Lila. Lila Vasquez.” Aware that her usual demeanor—the careful, upright professional she was in all things—was slipping, she stuck out her hand. And then was forced to keep holding it out. She’d somehow forgotten that the man was using both arms to hold his daughter, which meant he had to shift and shuffle before he could return the gesture.

It didn’t help that the hand he eventually extracted was his left one, which bore no signs of a wedding ring. His palm was cool and dry, his handshake firm. He might be holding a kindergartner and masquerading as a penguin, but he did it with a level of confidence Lila could only admire.

“Ford Ford.”

“I’m sorry?”

“You’re Lila Vasquez. This is Emily Ford. I’m Ford Ford.”

“You’re Ford…Ford?”

He bent in a slight bow. “The one and only. Or so I hope. If there’s another poor b-a-s-t-a-r-d wandering around out there named Ford Ford, he has my deepest sympathies. And a heartfelt wish to give his parents a strong talking-to.” His smile warmed as he continued. “I recognize your name. Are you one of the organizers?”

“Not an organizer, no.”

“She’s a princess,” Emily interjected.

“Yes, moppet. We’ve already covered that. She’s a princess and she rescues lost little girls and she doesn’t like men who smile with their teeth.”

“I never said—”