Page 1 of Nanny for the Single Dad Cowboy
1
TESSA
The ballroom hums with the low drone of voices, the kind that makes me want to claw at my ears. Rows of suits—navy, charcoal, black—file into their seats with the smug assurance of men who’ve never had to fight to be heard. Lanyards clack against each other in a rhythm of small talk and big promises.
The air smells like burnt coffee and ambition. Overhead banners swagger with slogans: SECURE. SCALE. DOMINATE. They make me want to laugh and cry at the same time.
And then there’s me.
Pink hair, leather jacket over a pencil dress, scuffed boots instead of stilettos. I don’t blend in, and I don’t want to, but inrooms like this, standing out isn’t power; it’s a target painted between my shoulder blades.
On paper, this is supposed to be my moment. The software presentation is mine—my code, long nights, and fingerprints all over it. This should be a proud moment, but instead, dread coils tight in my gut because of what I’ve just found out. Someone has tampered with my work in the worst way possible.
I shift in my chair, eyes flicking to the stage. My boss, Richard Kane, is laughing too loudly at some inside joke with the VP of Cyber Defense Solutions. My stomach turns. He doesn’t care if the code works, only if it sells.
I remind myself why I’m here. Twenty-three, one of the youngest cybersecurity analysts AegisTech has ever hired, hungry enough to outwork every person who’s ever looked down on me. They may think I’m just a pink-haired distraction, but I know the truth: I’m better than most of them.
If only I didn’t have to fight my own company to prove it.
Right before the presentation starts, I catch Richard in the narrow hallway behind the stage. He’s fiddling with his cufflinks as if he’s the star of the show, not the fraud about to sell a broken system to the highest bidder.
“Richard.” My voice is sharp enough to slice through his self-importance. “We need to talk.”
He doesn’t even look at me at first, just keeps smoothing his tie, smirking at his own reflection in the glass door. “Not now, Tessa. I’m about to make us a lot of money.”
I stand my ground. “No, we need to talk about the demo.”
He glances at me, raises an eyebrow. “Everything looks fine, Tessa. What’s wrong?”
I grit my teeth. “Everything isn’t fine. Someone—you, I’m assuming—has tampered with the software. The vulnerabilities I left in for testing? They’ve been deliberately left in the build. Backdoors. Potential exploits. You know exactly what that means if this goes live.”
He sighs, a practiced, dismissive sound. “Tessa, relax. This is business. We can’t have you running around scaring clients. It’s fine. Everything’s fine.”
“Fine?” I snap. “Do you even hear yourself? If anyone digs deep enough, they’ll see it. We’re handing them a time bomb.”
The system has been left vulnerable; these aren’t just cracks—they’re chasms. And if anyone in this room has half a brain, they’ll see it too.
His face hardens into a glare as he steps closer, his breath thick with coffee and mint, his voice low. “You listen to me. You’re here to make me look good—that’s your job. Not to embarrass this company with your paranoia.”
I stiffen. “Paranoia? I’m telling you the truth. The system is faulty. You’re going to put the company and me at risk. If anyone finds out about these backdoors, it could lead to a scandal, and I’ll be the one held accountable because my name is on the code.”
He leans closer, voice dropping, almost teasing. “Tessa, my dear, I suggest you keep your mouth shut and focus on looking professional. You’re young. You’re lucky to even be in this room. Don’t overplay your hand.”
My pulse spikes, hot rage clawing at my throat. But then, like twisting the knife, he adds, “And don’t worry about presenting. I’ve given it to Matt. He’ll deliver it better.”
The words land heavier than any insult. My project. My sleepless nights. Handed to someone else as if I’m nothing.
“Matt? That dickwad doesn’t know the difference between Java and JavaScript,” I mock.
Richard’s face hardens. “Careful, little girl. You’re overplaying your hand here.”
I want to punch him for making fun of my age and my skills. Instead, I grit my teeth, clench my fists at my sides, and force myself to breathe. The real reason he gave Matt the job is that he’s a man, part of the boys’ club—a place I will never fit into.
“You’ll regret this,” I whisper, more to myself than him.
He laughs softly, already dismissing me. “I doubt it.” Without acknowledging me further, he pushes through the door, basking in applause as the spotlight finds him.
And me? I’m left in the shadows, choking on fury, promising myself that one day Richard Kane will pay for underestimating me.
