Page 190 of Double Daddies
As I carry the heavy tray to the front, the bell above the door chimes again, drawing my attention.
At first, I think it’s the same man that saved me, possibly returning from outside, but then I notice subtle differences. The man who walks in shares the same height, the same sharp features, and the same aura of effortless power, but his energy feels lighter, more relaxed. While the first man carried the weight of precision and control, this one walks with a casual confidence, a faint smirk playing at the edges of his lips.
He spots the other immediately and strides over to his table in the corner, moving through the café like he owns it—or perhaps like he’s been here a thousand times before. The first man’s posture shifts when he sees him, tension melting from his shoulders as if he’s been waiting for this moment. The resemblance between them is uncanny, but there’s something about their dynamic that sets them apart.
Wyatt gives me a questioning look as he wipes down the espresso machine.
“You know them?” I whisper, watching as the men greet each other.
He shrugs, a slight smile playing at his lips. “They look familiar but no, I don’t believe I know them.”
“They look to be twins,” Wyatt adds, his voice quiet.
I nod, not needing confirmation. There's something about them that transcends words, an unspoken connection that runs deeper than their matching features.
They're a striking pair, their suits tailored to perfection, their expressions serious but not severe. But it's their eyes that draw me in. Even from across the café, their gazes hold a spark of intensity that ignites something inside me
“Ezra,” the newcomer says, pulling out the chair opposite him without asking. “Still hiding out in tiny coffee shops, I see.”
He responds with a pointed look, his tone calm and measured. “I’m hardly hiding, Elijah. You’re the one who decided to track me down.”
Ezra and Elijah—names easy to remember, ones that seem to match the charm radiating from them. Elijah leans back in the chair, draping an arm over the backrest as he surveys the café with a curious gaze. His smirk widens as if he finds the place amusing.
“Well, you weren’t answering your phone,” he replies, feigning offense. “Thought I might find you brooding over a cup of overpriced coffee.”
Ezra shakes his head, clearly unimpressed. “You’d do the same if you weren’t so caught up chasing headlines.”
They banter like this, their words sharp but laced with the kind of familiarity that only comes from years of shared history. I can’t help but watch them from behind the counter, though I pretend to be focused on wiping down the espresso machine. There’s a strange allure to their presence, the way they command attention without even trying.
Elijah’s gaze sweeps across the room again, and for a fleeting moment, it lands on me. I feel my cheeks heat as his smirk softens into something warmer, more approachable. If Ezra is the storm, Elijah feels like the calm just before it. But both are undeniably powerful, their presence impossible to ignore.
As their conversation continues, I catch snippets—mention of a tech company, a deal gone sideways, someone named Donovan. It’s all business, but the tension between them is palpable. Whatever brought them here, it feels important, like a ripple that could turn into a wave.
I turn my attention back to the counter, forcing myself to focus on the mundane tasks at hand. But deep down, I know thismoment is anything but ordinary. These two men, so alike yet so different, have brought something into this café that I can’t quite name—a feeling that life, once quiet and predictable, is about to change.
Chapter Two
Ezra
The elevator glides smoothly to the top floor of the Phoenix Tech headquarters, its mirrored walls catching glimpses of Elijah beside me. He’s leaning casually against the rail, hands in his pockets, and a faint smile playing on his lips. It’s the same expression he wore back at the coffee shop—the one that says he knows something I don’t and is thoroughly enjoying it.
“Let me guess,” he says, breaking the silence. “You’re going to dive straight into emails, ignore lunch, and spend the rest of the day arguing with Donovan about the FireBird Project.”
“And let me guess,” I reply evenly, “you’re going to charm half the board into agreeing with whatever wild idea you came up with on the way here, making more work for me.”
He chuckles, the sound light and unbothered. “That’s why we make such a great team. You handle the boring bits, I handle the brilliant ones.”
I glance at him, raising an eyebrow. “You mean reckless.”
“Brilliant,” he corrects, his grin widening. “Face it, Ezra, you’d be bored without me.”
The elevator dings softly, and the doors slide open, revealing the sleek expanse of our office floor. The space is as polished asthe company we’ve built together. Glass walls, modern furniture, and a view of the city stretches endlessly in every direction. It culminates years of work, late nights, and dozens of debates. But it’s ours.
We were honorably discharged from the Army after serving eight years for our country. Working in military intelligence with the Green Berets is where our spark for technology came from. Elijah and I knew when we got out that we wanted to start our own tech company. Quickly Phoenix Tech got on the Department of Defense's radar after the invention of our tracker devices and we’ve been DOD contracted with them ever since.
Clara, my assistant, is waiting just outside my office, as efficient as ever, with her tablet and a long list of tasks. She greets us both, though I catch the faintest twitch of her lips at the sight of Elijah. He has that effect on people, a natural charisma that makes them instantly at ease—or, in Clara’s case, slightly exasperated.
“Good morning, Mr. St. James,” she begins, addressing me first. “Your nine a.m. has been rescheduled to this afternoon, and Mr. Donovan is requesting an update on the FireBird Project. Also, the board has been asking about?—”
