Archer rose to an impressive height and strolled across the room, glass in hand. This was the guy Nathan had hated in school: the tall blond jock whom all the girls swooned over, while he and his fellow nerds were invisible. He allowed himself an inward smirk of satisfaction at meeting on an equal footing now.
Then he considered Teresa and her kind and decided that maybe the Archers of the world weren’t so lucky after all. The high school girls had wanted Archer for the status of dating the star athlete, just like Teresa had wanted Nathan for his wealth or power. Neither was a good basis for a relationship.
“It’s the beginning of a bad joke. A writer, a quarterback, and a CEO walk into a bar,” Miller said, slouching into a chair and setting his glass down on the table.
“What’s the punch line?” Archer asked, an undercurrent of amusement in his voice.
Miller shrugged. “I have writer’s block, remember? That’s why I missed my deadline.”
“What does that mean, having writer’s block?” Archer asked with a jab in his tone. “You can’t type?”
Miller looked at Archer. “Why’d you throw a pass nowhere near your wide receiver?”
“It’s harder than it looks,” the big man said, unruffled, although Nathan noticed that he rolled his right shoulder slightly as he said it.
Miller laughed. “Exactly.” He kept his gaze on the quarterback. “You must have some major endorsement contracts to be a member of this club.”
“I’ve had some luck in the stock market. It’s a hobby of mine.”
“Luck, eh? Maybe I’ll buy some Trainor Electronics stock too.” He turned to Nathan. “So, a woman?”
“Maybe I just learned that my competitors invented a better battery,” Nathan said. He gave his two companions a sardonic smile. “Which means you might want to rethink that investment.”
“It’s after midnight and you’re wearing a tux.” Miller let his head rest against the chair’s back as he stared up at the coffered ceiling. “You weren’t jilted at the altar, because it’s a weekday. Maybe you caught your wife in bed with another man.”
“Is this a way of trying to break your writer’s block?” Nathan asked.
“Are you married?”
“No.”
“You wear a look of cynical disgust,” Miller said. “So her motives were less than pure.”
Archer swallowed the last of the clear liquid in his glass. “Good luck finding a woman without ulterior motives when you qualify as a member of this club.”
“What are you drinking?” Nathan asked, gesturing the waiter over.
“Water.”
The writer laughed and picked up Nathan’s bottle of scotch, sloshing slugs of liquor into Archer’s glass and his own. “If we’re going to discuss women, you need something stronger than water.” Miller handed the empty bottle to the waiter. “Bring us one of bourbon and another one of scotch. And some nuts.”
Archer picked up the glass of scotch and looked at it a long moment before lifting it to his lips.
“Attaboy,” Miller said before he turned back to Nathan. “Did she break your heart or just injure your pride?”
Nathan had drunk enough to give the question serious consideration. “How can you tell the difference?”
“Now that is an excellent question,” Miller said. “When my fiancée dumped me, I believe she broke my heart. But I was new to Hollywood back then and quite naive.”
“Hollywood?” Nathan asked.
“She’s one of the actresses in the Julian Best movies,” Miller said. “I met her on the set.”
“Irene Bartram,” Archer said. “She plays Samantha Dubois, the double agent.”
“A true fan,” Miller said. “My thanks.”
“You don’t have a lot of women in your books,” Archer pointed out.
“There’s a reason for that,” the novelist said.
Nathan snorted in agreement. “So, Archer, how do you handle women?”
“Full disclosure and keep it short,” the quarterback said. “I don’t have a lot of free time.”
“None of us do,” Nathan said.
“Full disclosure?” Miller asked.
Archer shrugged. “No strings, no rings.”
“No gifts?” the writer asked, his eyebrows raised. “I hear Derek Jeter gives them signed baseballs.”
“If they ask for a football, I’m happy to oblige,” Archer said. “Seems kind of arrogant to assume they want my signature, though.”
“I would think arrogance went with the territory,” Miller said. “You’re a quarterback.”
For the first time, Archer smiled. “I’ve got plenty of arrogance on the field.”
Miller turned to Nathan. “So have you figured it out yet?”
“You’re damned annoying,” Nathan said. “All right, pride. She played me and I’m pissed about it.”
“What are you going to do?” Miller asked. The writer’s eyes were half-closed as he lay back in his chair, but Nathan saw a spark of interest in them.
“Nothing. I don’t care enough to expend the energy.” It was depressing to realize how true that was.
Miller shook his head. “Disappointing.”
“It’s the only way to go,” Archer said.
“Have you had your heart broken?” Miller prodded the quarterback.