Money Birdette, Johnny Love __hot__ - I Want To Impress Her

She smiled. A real one. Not the sharp, appraisal smile. A soft, crooked, you-idiot-you-beautiful-idiot smile.

Now he stood outside her favorite supper club, the Velvet Spur, clutching a small cardboard box. Inside: a single, perfect red rose, a handwritten note that said “For the woman who makes arithmetic feel like poetry,” and—this was the crazy part—a small glass jar filled with exactly 1,783 pennies. i want to impress her money birdette, johnny love

She reached into her clutch—a small leather thing that probably cost more than Johnny’s car—and pulled out a single gold dollar coin. She placed it on the table beside the jar. She smiled

The Venetian was a rival—a silk-scarf-wearing dilettante with a yacht and the emotional depth of a puddle. He’d been trying to buy Birdette a private island for the past week. A soft, crooked, you-idiot-you-beautiful-idiot smile

The “her” in question was Money Birdette.

Birdette held up a single finger. The Venetian went silent.