A Penny's Worth (The Cephas Bourdon Series) (11 page)

"Ah!" I exclaimed indignantly. "You stole a cookie!"

"Yeah, maybe
your
focus needs a little work," he concluded through a full mouth. I rolled my eyes and began scooping cookies onto a plate. Trying to ignore
Cephas’
staring eyes, I poured two glasses of milk. Cephas grabbed the glasses of milk and I carried the plate of cookies. We walked into the liv
ing room and I sat on the couch.
Cephas sat right next to me. His tempting scent wafted to my nose, mixing with the fragrance of fresh, chocolate chip cookies. My lungs inhaled instinctively and I adjusted my position to face Cephas.

"So, how many girls have you arrested with your ravishing looks and pleasant charm?" I asked, brows raised. He looked quite startled, pausing midway to biting into a cookie.

"That's quite the question, or assumption, rather," he replied, taking a swig from his glass of milk. He eyed me suspiciously and then continued. "I don't hang out with women, er, that is, girls, very often. I'm usually quite busy."

"You're a senior in high school. Why are you so busy?" He looked very bewildered.

"You sure ask . . . interesting questions." He paused again. "My parents were really well off," he started.

"I noticed. That car isn't exactly a beater."

"Yeah. Well, I never really went to school. I was learning the family business, so to speak."

"You're being somewhat evasive," I prodded, intrigued by his lack of detail.

"Yeah, I
—
" The front door opened.

"Em!" a deep voice called from the entry. "Did you steal somebody's car?" he called. I could hear the grin in his voice.

"That will be my dad," I warned.

"I brought home Chinese!" he shouted. "But I'm hoping that's a friend's car. One
—
because I bought way too much food, and two
—
it's very convenient to have rich friends: they're easy to take advantage of." I rolled my eyes and stood from the couch, just in time to see my dad walking into the living room.

"Hi, Dad."

"Hi, pumpkin. So, which is it? Advantage
-
taking or grand theft auto?" Just then Cephas stood.

"Dad, this is Cephas," I gestured toward him. Cephas walked around the couch.

"Nice to meet you, s
ir," Cephas offered, shaking my dad's hand firmly.

"So it's advantage
-
taking," my dad smiled in return. "But I wager nobody's been taking any advantage here," he said sternly.

"No, s
ir," Cephas replied. I covered a mortified expression with my hands.

"Dad, please. Can you act normal for just one minute?" He looked me in the eye with the same mischievous look that defined
Cephas’
demeanor every now and then.

"Sure," he replied, turning toward the kitchen. He set some grocery bags on the counter. To my utter horror, he continued talking.

"What happened to
—
what was his name? Chelsea?"

"It was Chase, Dad." I replied.

"Hmmm, I always thought Chelsea would be a better name for him." I heard a snicker next to me. I glared and Cephas muttered a 'sorry.'

"He's busy
—
forever," I replied. My dad and I had made a deal: when we didn't want to talk about a break
-
up, we said the other person was busy, and then concluded with an amount of time, whether temporary or permanent.

"Good. So, Cephas, do you like Chinese?"

"Sure do."

"Em?"

"Duh." I walked to the kitchen and sat on the counter. Dad joined me and I patted the seat next to me.

"Please excuse our manners, Cephas. We prefer to sit on the counter instead of at the table. But only when we eat Chinese," my dad explained. He winked at me. We ate Chinese at least three times a week. Cephas jumped up on the counter next to me and I handed him a carton of food.

I was waiting for my dad to start grilling Cephas for information. He could never ask normal questions, such as 'Where are you from' or 'How are your parents,' although right now I was grateful he would, no doubt, avoid those types of questions.

"So, Cephas
—
what are you going to do for a living?" Cephas and I looked at each other and burst out laughing. My dad looked surprised.

"Okay, let's start with a different question. How old are you?" Cephas cleared his throat before responding.

"Eighteen, s
ir. I'm about to graduate with Emmaline."

"You must not have known each other very long," he commented, pushing his food around with a set of chopsticks.

"Why's that?" Cephas asked.

"All her friends call her Emma." He was still looking down at his food.

"And you call her Em," Cephas observed. My dad looked up from his carton, peering at Cephas through his posh glasses.

"That's right."

"I think I like that nick name better," Cephas added. My dad studied him for a moment over the rim of his glasses, then returned to his food.

"Me too. I like you, Cephas," he said, waving his chopsticks in the air at him. "You know what else I like? Your car. Where on earth did you get a car like that?"

"Well," Cephas began, clearing his throat. "They said, 'order a car,' so I used the manufacturer's website and put it together. Then they sent it to me." He always seemed to be clearing his throat when he talked about himself. My dad stared in surprised approval.

"Who's they?"

"The people responsible for my parents," he replied, pushing his food around with a set of chopsticks.

"I have a more important question," my dad continued. I hoped he wouldn't push the issue.

"Didn't anybody teach you how to use chopsticks?" Cephas chuckled, eying his utensil and setting it down.

"I'm not very good at it, I must admit," Cephas replied. My dad lighted off of the counter, armed with a new carton of food and a fresh set of chop sticks.

"Well, I need to do some work, so I'll be in my office if you need anything," my dad warned more than offered. He started down the hall, humming on the way.

"Your dad is cool. I can't believe you were warning me about him," Cephas observed. "Although I can see how protective he is."

"Yeah, he's pretty great, as far as dads go. Was your dad like that?" Cephas looked away, his eyes glazing over with a deep, misty gray.

"I'm sorry, Cephas, you don't
—
I didn't
—
"

"No, it's fine," Cephas encouraged. "I just haven't ever talked to anyone about my parents. My dad loved me like he loved nothing else. Well, except for my mother. And my mother
—
wow, she was great. But my dad was always really busy. He made time for me, though, and I loved hanging out with him when I was a little kid. My hand moved subconsciously to his leg. He looked down at my hand, then into my face. I blushed, realizing the location of my hand.

"You respond really well to people," he said, sniffing and chuckling. "Did your last boyfriend have a tragic life too?"

"No, his life was cake. I just . . . I don't know. I feel
—
connected to you." I looked away, embarrassed by my forwardness.

“Wait
—
yo
u said last boyfriend.
How did you know I broke up with Chase?” I asked, not taking care to mask the shocked undertones in my voice. Cephas grabbed my hand, lacing his fingers with mine.

"Come on; I spied a movie in your cabinet that I really want to see." He tugged at my hand and pulled me toward the living room, smiling that smile that was becoming quite familiar. I conceded and followed him as he dragged me toward the movie cabinet. He pulled out a movie, but wouldn't show me the cover. He held onto my hand, keeping me captive as he put the DVD into the system and pushed play. Smiling, he pulled me quickly to the couch, plopping down and pulling me after him. I let out a small scream, covering my mouth in hope my dad didn't hear. I attempted to control the anxious feelings evident in my haphazard yelp, but I was quite unsuccessful as Cephas maneuvered me close to his body
. H
is arms wrapped around my waist. My nervous breathing ensued and I tried not to breathe in
Cephas’
aphrodisiacal cologne. This proved difficult, as I was breathing erratically, thus inhaling his heavenly scent every other second. The movie intro sounded, signaling the start of a familiar film. I forgot about my anxiety for a moment.

"You do
not
want to watch this," I accused Cephas, looking up at him to keep from disrupting our position.

"Yes, I do!" he countered, a lying smile on his face. "I want to watch your favorite movie!" I paused before responding.

"How do you know it's my favorite?"

"W
ell, look how worn the case is. A
ny case that looks like that has been either run over by a car or watched a billion times. I just took a wild guess." That sounded like a reasonable conclusion.

“At least you’re observant enough to be a CIA agent,” I commented, trying to ignore his thumbs as they moved along my abdomen, playing along the line of my jeans. We sat in silence, turning back toward t
he television to watch the film. H
is fingers made a figure
-
eight around my belly button.

"This is my favorite part!" I whispered to him excitedly. He chuckled.

"Cephas," my dad called from his office. Cephas released me, sitting up rigidly. I shrugged my shoulders and Cephas stood, puzzlement prevalent on his face. He walked up to the door, which hung slightly ajar, and pushed it open, peering inside.

"Come in and shut the door, please," my dad said from his desk. The door quietly clicked into a closed position. What was my dad doing?! The walls were pretty sound proof so I couldn't hear much. I stayed my position on the couch, afraid to get caught listening by the door. They hadn't been in there but a moment when I heard my father's voice raise. He never raised his voice. I even heard
Cephas’
voice raise a few times. What was going on? The door flew open and Cephas emerged, my dad right behind him. My father’s face was stern, his body tense. The black
-
rimmed glasses he wore accentuated his unwavering decision. I looked at Cephas, whose face matched my father's. He looked into my eyes, pleading for understanding, and perhaps a little help. My dad cleared his throat and Cephas turned down the hall. I'm pretty sure my mouth hung open as I sat there, completely confused.

"Cephas, wait! What
—
"

"Leave it alone, Emmaline." My dad's voice was cold; he never called me Emmaline.

"What happened, Dad?" I whispered.

"Nothing. You're never to see that boy again." He spun on his heels, done with the conversation. I jumped off of the couch and followed him into his office.

"I said let it alone," he demanded from his desk.

"No, Dad." The words were shocking, even to my own ears. I had somehow acquired a massive dose of gumption in the past two days
—
it extended beyond my regular sassy demeanor
—
and I wasn’t about to back down now. My dad looked up at me in stern surprise
. H
is eyes spewed anger, but eventually softened.

"Em, I just don't want you to get hurt. This is in your own best interest."

"No, Cephas was in my own best interest. You don't know anything about him!"

"Oh, really? Let me tell you something I do know. That boy is involved in something far beyond his capacity to understand. It's illegal, immoral, and unsafe, so don't tell me he had your best interest in mind!"

"What, Dad! What did he do?"

"I can't tell you."

"How do you even know any of this?" I asked quietly, trying to keep the water inside my eyes rather than out. My father sighed.

"He's a smart boy, erasing the history on the website he was using. But I'm an inventor, remember? You think I just let that computer go unsupervised? Any click of the mouse, any tap of a key, is recorded into a file on my computer. I browsed through the file and found everything. That boy is a part of something in which I don't want you involved."

Spinning away from me in his swivel chair, my dad started typing busily on his computer. I stood in silence, not knowing what to say. What did Cephas do? My dad stopped typing and sighed.

"Look, sweetheart. I've seen some bad things in my life, and I don't want any of it to catch up with you."

"Like what?!" I began, unleashing my emotion. I couldn't control my anger; maybe this gumption thing was more damaging than helpful, but I was already in too deep to turn back.

"Ever since Mom died you've been trying to 'protect' me. You haven't even invented anything for two years! You just go off on business trips, talking to masses of people who respect you, but they don't even know you! They don't know you just sit in your office all the time
. T
hey don't know that you can't get over Mom's death. It was an accident Dad
—
an accident!"