Jett picked up his fork and took a bite of the eggs on his plate, watching Anna with an amused smile. For someone who had been so quick to judge him for drinking in the morning, she was surprisingly eager to take him up on his offer to try the mimosa. He wondered if she had just poked fun at him earlier to put up a front. He wasn’t sure why she would do that, but it was the only explanation he could think of for her abrupt change in attitude. That is, until she added an explanation of her own.

[i]To shut me up, huh?[/i] Jett nearly laughed at that. Anna’s combativeness never ceased to entertain him. No one else—at least, since he’d made a name for himself—had the guts to say the things she did to him. Her spunk was refreshing, and it brought up a competitive energy in him that made him feel the need to think a little quicker on his feet. After all, he wasn’t about to let some woman he just met last night make him look like an idiot by outperforming him in a battle of wits, especially in front of a bunch of rolling cameras. He had a reputation to uphold, after all. He had to do it for the fans—at least, that sounded like a selfless enough excuse for him to convince himself that he wasn’t just being petty.

“I never agreed to that,” he pointed out cheekily. Reaching out, he took the champagne flute back from her after she’d sipped at it and downed a sizeable portion of the drink that remained. At this point, he’d given up on fighting the impression that he was an alcoholic. He knew he wasn’t, and that was what mattered. If he wanted to have fun and indulge a little while he had the opportunity, then there was no reason not to. He would just be careful not to let himself get too carried away, since he was technically still in front of an audience.

 As he set his glass back down, Jett casted Anna a sideways glance. She was a difficult person to read. He couldn’t tell if she was enjoying his company or not, so he decided to test the waters a bit. “You know, if you really don’t want to talk to me, I can just leave,” he offered with a one-shouldered shrug. “There are plenty of other places to sit in this mansion that would be more comfortable than this metal barstool.”