“You’re incorrigible.” I narrow my eyes at the man I’ve deemed worthy of my most treasured insult. Incorrigible. It’s a damn good word. The man in question is Dean Asher—my sister’s prick of a fiancé. Dean laughs, seemingly unaffected by the hostility shooting from my eyes like hot lasers. He must be used to it by now. “What the hell does that even mean?” “Stupid, too,” I say, sipping on my watered-down cocktail with one arched eyebrow.
