Three Ruthless Grooms and a Bad Girl: Three Guys and a Girl, #6

By Chloe Kent

Outraged that her eighty-year-old friend from the old age home in which she works was robbed of a lifetime with the three men she had fallen in love with, all because their respective fathers were against their relationship, Imogen is all fired up to exact revenge on her friend's behalf by now ruining their three grandsons very posh weddings to three very stunning heiresses.
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Except she wasn't supposed to get caught by the grooms themselves.

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• Language: English
• Publisher: Chloe Kent
• Release date: Dec 22, 2022
• ISBN: 9798215858592

Book preview

THREE RUTHLESS GROOMS AND A BAD GIRL

Chloe Kent

Copyright © 2022 by Chloe Kent

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author.

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. Join my newsletter, get a free ebook and keep up to date with all my book news!

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CONTENTS

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Epilogue

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About the Author

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Chapter One

Imogen Patrick hid an extra cookie under a napkin on the tray and then headed out of the kitchen, keeping the expression on her face straight and innocent.

She was already on Marjorie Phillips’ bad side, but who cared? It was an extra cookie for her favorite resident, and since the director of the care home wasn’t around to micromanage Imogen’s every move, she could get away with it.

Besides, Marjorie could do with eating a cookie herself, or ten, if only to help ease the pinched, condescending expression permanently etched into her face, more pronounced when she looked at Imogen for some reason.

Ordinarily, she’d tell herself to take back any ill thought she had about anyone, her universe needed all the help it could get, and she at least wanted to try to keep it clean. But in Marjorie’s case, she let the thought stay.

The woman could do with some simple sweetness in her life. Cookies could solve a host of problems if the person tried hard enough. 

Balancing the tray of tea and chocolate chip treats she walked down the sterile, white-tiled corridor, disinfected to within an inch of its life, and gleamed so much her sneakers squeaked with every step she took.

She didn’t know why but trudging down that long corridor seemed to bring out an existential crisis in her.

She was twenty-four years old. She had no job prospects, not with her two incomplete degrees, half in business and the other half in psychology, which she had actually loved and enjoyed.

She had though, accumulated a fat sum of debt in her wake, but she had to live, and credit cards helped her do that.

And worse, she didn’t have an excuse for not having her shit together, whereas other girls her age were saving the world and doing it in full makeup and heels.

Gosh, she was such a loser.

All of this was how she ended up working at Douglas Cedar Residential Care Home as part of the kitchen staff since she had no experience otherwise or was qualified to do anything else but the dishes.

She was soon upgraded to serving tea to the residents. Other parts of her job included taking the time to read the residents their emails or letters or books to them. She was even doing hair for a few of the ladies.

By far, though, her favorite lady was Dottie Montgomery. Imogen served her tea last because it meant she could stay longer before she had to do the rounds of collecting the trays and dirty cups again.  

How are you doing today, Dottie, Imogen asked as she stepped into a well-lit beige room with pictures hanging on the walls of forests and meadows in passive colors. The scent of menthol and musk perfume lingered in the air around her, Dottie’s signature scent.

Dottie Montgomery, sixty-eight years old with a cheeky demeanor and a feisty personality, sat staring out onto the wide expanse of lawn from the window in her spacious room, looking uncharacteristically forlorn.

Her older sister’s great-granddaughters came to visit her every other month. She loved them to bits, but they lived too far away, and she refused to move closer.

Imogen, darling, Dottie said, trying to give her a broad smile. She sounded as if she had been crying. 

Dottie never cried. 

Ever.

Hey, what’s wrong? Imogen asked as she set the tray down on the table beside the elderly woman and pulled a chair closer to her. What’s going on?

Boasting a head full of soft silver-white hair and full-face makeup Dottie was an attractive woman. Except now, her huge blue eyes shimmered with tears she had shed. 

Without knowing the reason why tiny pinpricks of tears poked at Imogen’s eyes. She had grown unbelievably close to the older woman in her time working there. Dottie meant the world to her, and seeing her upset pulled at Imogen’s heartstrings. 

Dottie, what’s wrong? Tell me.

I’m just mad. And a little sad. A lot sad. Dottie lowered her head as she wrung her hands in her lap. Oh peanuts, she exclaimed. Oh peanuts to Dottie was oh balls to Imogen. She could still hear Dottie giggling when she explained that when things went wrong, it was best to blame it on a tiny set of testes and as peanuts applied nicely to pea-size nuts but also penis nuts worked well.

Emphasis needed to be placed on the overall sense that it meant tiny nuts or tiny balls. Because, in Dottie’s words, big balls were never a problem.

She was very naughty that way. Imogen could hardly fault her explanation. It made perfect sense, not that she knew firsthand whether big balls were ever the problem or not. She wouldn’t know; she hadn’t seen nor felt up a set of big balls in her life. Another notch for her loser post.

Tell me what’s wrong, Dottie. I can fix it and if I can’t fix it, then I’ll... I’ll kick it to the curb real hard. Now tell me what’s made you so sad and mad.

Instead of explaining in words, she picked up a copy of today’s newspaper and showed it to Imogen. 

For what felt like an eternity, Imogen found herself staring at the images of three men. She had zero idea who they were but that didn’t stop her from having an overwhelming, weird reaction.

A full-scale wave of heat draped all over her body, setting the clothes she wore, a worn-out pair of jeans and a thin-with-age pink T-shirt on fire.

The tingling feeling in the roots of her hair and the tips of her