DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT KNOW ROBERT PATTINSON OR ANY OF THE REAL PEOPLE NAMED IN MY STORY. IT IS ALL A FIGMENT OF AN OVERACTIVE IMAGINATION. I DO HOWEVER KNOW CLARISSA AND ALI

AS FATE WOULD HAVE IT

CHAPTER ONE

MYSTERY CALLER

Beep. Beep. Beep.

'Urg.' I groaned angrily.

'It's my time off, sod off.'

Beep. Beep. Beep.

The blasted alarm kept repeating.

I lifted a pillow lazily. Opened one eye and aimed toward the insistent, flashing, continually beeping, bane of my existence.

Said alarm clock fell noisily onto the floor.

I held my breath.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

'Damn it!' I seethed, throwing the duvet back and padding toward my bloody tormentor.

'Oh crap! That's another 50p in the swear box.'

I picked it up gingerly. Marched determinedly to the window. Opened it, and threw the piece of crap down into the garden below, where it joined a couple of its predecessor's.

I grinned, 'alarm clock graveyard.'

Unfortunately, unlike some people who were able to just climb back into their warm, snuggly bed and drift back into oblivion. I was awake, wide awake.

I sighed.

Thursday bloody morning. First day of my holiday and up at 7.50am.

What the hell was I going to do today?

I yawned.

Right. Shower, coffee and toast, then decide.

So in that order, my morning commenced.

The hot shower was refreshing.

The stress of being awoken so abruptly, gradually eased from my tired muscles, as the spikes of heat jetted over my body.

The person who invented power showers should get a bloody medal.

Just my opinion.

Shower done. I blow dried my ridiculously long hair and pulled it roughly into a pony-tail.

Dressed in jeans and a T-shirt.

I wandered into my kitchen. Filled the coffee machine absent mindedly and while I waited for my quick fix of caffeine, I walked out to the side garden to check on the unfortunate remains of my alarm clock.

I laughed aloud when I heard a quiet, uneven, beep, beep, beep.

Oh well, a trip to the pound shop for a new one was in order.

Coffee in hand I sat on my sofa and switched on the television to Sky news.

'Let's see what's going on in the world.' I said to myself.

Um, maybe now is good time to introduce myself.

Hi, I'm Clarrie James. Full name, Clarissa Victoria Elizabeth St. James.

I know a real mouthful right?

It seems my mother had a thing for a past and our present Queen.

I'm a writer.

A published writer. Albeit under a pen name or rather three pen names, for three different genres of writing.

Claire Jameson. Author of Romantic fiction. Published under Mills and Boon publications.

Clarissa Dominique. Published under Black Lace Erotica publications.

Cassie James. Published under numerous fan fiction internet sites.

I have to say my favourite type of writing.

Well, we all like a little fantasy…Right?

I've currently finished the final rewrite of my first novel, using my own name. It's called, 'Grace and Favor.'

My agent Ruth, already indicating some interest from unnamed parties, as to the film rights.

'Grace and Favor.' A brief synopsis.

Rom com, pure and simple.

Damian Grace. World renown classical pianist, falls for lead singer of all girl rock band Chastity Favor.

It's funny, angsty and rather sexy. All the ingredients needed for a good chick flick, apparently.

Anyway, its Thursday.

I'd promised myself a week off as soon as my book had gone to the publishers.

No bloody work for one whole week.

God, the news was depressing.

Wars, murders, house prices falling, flick it off.

I decided I had three choices.

Stay in cosy house and vegetate. Go shopping or go for a walk on the beach?

Clear out the cobwebs with the fresh sea air.

I decided on my third option.

I grabbed my leather jacket. Slipped on my Nikes. Grabbed my bag, keys and iphone and headed out of the door.

As the black clouds rolled in from the mainland. I thought it best to drive down to Ventnor.

I climbed into my Landrover. My pride and joy but as I pushed in the key to start 'Bessie' up my phone rang.

'Damn!' I groaned, sure it was my sister Alicia, checking up on me.

I didn't recognise the number though.

'Hi.' I said tentatively.

'Lizzy. I need to speak to you…Like now, where the fuck are you?' A rather posh male voice, growled angrily.

I glared at my phone. 'Excuse me?' I asked, taken aback by the rude, gruff questioning.

'Lizzy, look I'm sorry love. I just…I really need to chat.' He went on.

'Um…I think you have the wrong number.'

'Liz! Don't fuck about. I'm not in the mood for your games. I have a problem Liz and I…'

'Look Mr Angry. You have the wrong number.' I told him insistently.

'No. I have the right number. Lizzy, please I need your help.' The man groaned.

'For the last time…I am not Lizzy.'

'Then why have you got Lizzie's fucking cell phone.' He snarled.

'This is not Lizzie's mobile phone I can assure you, it's mine.'

There was silence for what seemed like minutes. I ended the call.

'Jerk.' I seethed.

My phone went off again.

I huffed impatiently.

'Yes.' I asked sharply.

'Liz, please don't hang up…I'm sorry…I.' Same idiot's voice, God was he deaf?

I cleared my throat.

'Did you not hear me?' I snapped. 'I'm not your girlfriend Liz and if I were. I would have hung up the phone on your arse.'

'My…Girlfriend?' The stranger asked incredulously.

'Well…Whoever she is.' I growled angrily.

'Sister.' He replied sheepishly.

'Pardon me?'

'Lizzy… Is my sister.' He said emphatically.

'Whatever. I am not she. You have the wrong number.' I reiterated, again.

'No! This is my sister's number. I know I've had a few beers but I pressed all the right buttons.'

I sighed heavily.

He was certainly pressing all the wrong buttons now though.

Great a pissed up brother, looking for an argument with his sibling.

'Look Mr Angry. I can assure you that this is my phone. I am not Lizzy. I do not have any brothers and if you don't mind me saying. Your drunken tirade will not assist you in procuring your sisters assistance with your…Um…Problem.' I stated categorically.

After another long silent pause, I heard one word. 'Bollocks.'

'Charming…And good day to you too, wanker.' I snapped, clicking my phone off.

What a rude, obnoxious, plum in the gob, silver spoon up his arse.

Whatever, prat.

Damn, damn, damn. Another £1 in the swearbox.

Damn it…The dickhead.

At this rate I'll soon have enough in the swearbox to have my dream holiday to Canada.

Like I needed to save for that.

What with my grandfather leaving my sister and I his entire fortune. Including my house, within its own estate and my sisters Mayfair flat in London. I could book a first class flight to Vancouver tomorrow.

Of course, I would have to persuade the executors to relinquish the money.

The trust fund set up by gramps, becomes all mine in a few weeks, on my 25th birthday.

July 28th will be the day I become totally independent.

I earn a good amount to swell the coffers mind you.

It seems my books are rather popular but as Alicia, my sister says. Once the solicitors and trust fund executives can no longer dictate how I am able to spend my own money. My life will change.

I started up my car, shaking my head to try and get rid of this anger I was feeling toward the faceless, dickwad arse.

Don't go there…He's gone…Forget him.

I did wonder though if his sister Lizzy would take that crap?

If he'd been my brother. I'd have slapped him upside his head if he spoke to me like that.

I smiled as a vision of his sister, knocking the petulance out of his grumpy arse, filled my head.

As I drove toward my destination.

My mind emptying of the visions and the angry voice ringing in my ears faded, my phone rang.

I clicked on hands free.

'Hi, Clarrie here.' Bloody hell! I never answer my phone with my name..

'Um…Hi…Ah, Clarrie…It's Lizzie's brother. Um…Mr Angry…'

I didn't answer.

'Ah…Are you there?'

I ignored him reaching to end the call.

'I'm really sorry…I…Well….I actually did press the wrong number. I…Ah…I changed a 5 to a 6 on the last digit of my sisters cell phone number. Fuck, I really am sorry.' He said quietly.

Squirm you little worm. I thought but never said aloud.

'So…Um…Hello…Fuck…Are you there? Well I know you are, you haven't ended the call.'

'I can soon remedy that.' I snapped. Ending the call immediately.

'Take that arse face.' I growled, grinning wickedly.

I pulled into the almost empty car park and stopped.

I looked out over the view before me.

The sea.

It was choppy out there today, windy too but at least it wasn't raining… Yet.

I grabbed my beanie hat from the back seat. Zipped up my jacket and opened the car door to step out and breathe in the sea breeze.

Before my feet touched the ground…My phone went off…Again.

I ignored it. Leaving it in the car and began walking along the sea front.

The wind was blowing a hooley. That's an old Isle of Wight term for blowing a gale, but it was so refreshing.

The cold wind whipping across my face, making my skin tingle.

There were a few other crazy's risking the storm, but at least the rain was staying away.

I wandered into the arcade and wasted a couple of pounds trying to win a small toy dog, from the crane machine.

My hand eye co-ordination was crap, so no chance of that.

I got myself a coffee and sat in fascination. Watching a chap fight an umbrella. It kept flicking inside out. 'Why bother mate, it's blowing a bloody force 10 gale.' I laughed silently.

At least I thought it was silently, until I noticed the girl behind the counter chuckling with me.

Here we go Clarrie, the bloody VF's back.

I wandered slowly back to my car.

Took off my hat and shook my hair.

The damned phone going off again.

Oh Lord…Only two hours peace and quiet, does not a happy Clarrie make.

'Yes.' I hissed. Literally hissed.

'Um.' One word. Not even a word but it was enough for me to recognise the half wit, posh git, orally inept, idiotic twit's voice.

'Before you say another um, ah or fuck. I have something to say.' I grumbled exasperatedly.

'Ok…ay.' He chuckled audibly.

Oh no he didn't. Did he?

'Are you laughing at me arsehole?'

'Um…I…Um…Just wanted, well…Sorry…' He was definitely laughing.

Red rag to a bull matey.

'You fucking moron. You think its funny to call a complete stranger and scream abuse at her? Do you? You cretin?'

Oh no. Don't do it Clarrie. Don't you dare, I admonished myself silently.

Too late…Far too late.

Tears of frustration and anger began rolling down my cheeks.

I sniffed loudly. 'Why don't you leave me the hell alone?' I sobbed, my voice hitching.

'Oh my God…Are you crying?' He asked incredulously.

I didn't reply for fear of another frustrated sob breaking out.

'Hey look…I…Oh shit…I didn't mean to upset you. Oh this is really fucked up.' He groaned.

I'm afraid my temper came to the fore. I took a calming breath…and started.

'Do you really think, I would be in the slightest bit emotionally charged, as to cry over an ignoramus like you? A person who verbally abuses his own sister over the phone, when he has a problem he's not man enough to sort out himself…Do you genuinely believe I would shed one solitary bloody tear, over an ignominious tyke?' I yelled angrily.

I was on a roll.

'Now just wait a minute there Miss Clarrie. You don't know me from Adam and quite frankly. I guess we should thank God for small mercies. I have attempted to apologise for my awful behaviour but honestly, if you're not woman enough to accept that apology then…'

'Please…Mr Angry. Don't try and turn the tables on me.' I began but was cut off.

'Rob.' He said abruptly.

'Whatever. Mr Rob. I think the time for apologies is way past its sell by date, don't you?'

'I couldn't agree more Miss Clarrie…Goodbye.' He said and the phone went dead.

I sat staring in disbelief at my iphone, for well over 5 minutes.

How dare he end the call before I had said my piece.

Who the hell did he think he was?

He'd ruined my whole day, with his barbaric behaviour.

A caveman, my Nana would have called him.

My imaginative mind went into overdrive picturing a hairy Neanderthal. Club in hand, dragging his woman into his cave by the hair!

I was so not ready to relinquish the title of 'Best at cutting people off abruptly' accolade my sister had bestowed upon me.

I dialled last caller, On the 3rd ring the dickhead answered.

'Hi…Um…Hello.' He said quietly.

What was that in his voice?

Was he afraid to answer his own phone?

It almost made me rethink the angry rebuttal I had planned…almost.

'Mr Rob. It's me Miss Clarrie.' I told him in my best business like tone.

'Oh fuck!' He exclaimed. 'How did you get this number?'

'You called me remember? I simply…Redialled.' I said sarcastically.

Did I mention, I love sarcasm?

'So…Are you calling to apologise?'

I gasped. 'You are kidding right? Me apologise?' I felt my anger returning, threatening physical abuse if he'd been anywhere near me.

'I was most certainly not kidding Miss Clarrie.'

'Well I'm extremely sorry to disappoint you Mr Rob but I actually called to do this…' I clicked off.

Take that you disgustingly, posh voiced, smooth as silk, sexy humming….' Oh crap!

What the hell is that? I was losing it big time.

I needed to get laid, as Alicia would say.

I was so wound up by the …Writer or not…I couldn't think of suitably, disgusting enough word to describe the…Tosser!

I got back out of my car. Pulled my beanie back on and just walked.

My phone went off as I walked along the beach. Daydreaming as to how my mystery caller looked.

I imagined a body builder type. All brawn and no brain.

Although, his voice was quite posh. Maybe a grotty yachty, as we islanders call the stuck-up, rich gits that visit the island once a year for Cowe's week.

'Hello.' I drawled, in my sexy 'come and get me' tone.

'Clarrie. I have some wonderful news sweety.' It was Ruth Jenkins my agent.

'Oh hi Ruth.' I answered. A little embarrassed at the sexy drawl, I'd answered her call with.

'Are you sitting down lovey? You should be sitting down. Are you ready?' She stated excitedly.

'Ruth, will you tell me already?'

'Summit Entertainment want to buy the film rights to your book.' She gushed.

I was gobsmacked.

'But it hasn't even gone into print yet. How?'

'Okay I'll explain. Apparently someone is a fan of yours. Has read all your books, even the erotica stuff. They contacted me through Curtis Brown.'

She began explaining in detail how someone. No name no pack drill. Found out about the novel I was writing and immediately wanted to turn it into a movie.

Holy shit! A bloody movie?

'I sent the rough draft…And they came back with an offer. Of course, you have the final say Clarrie. You have all the rights, from the screen writer, male lead, female lead, locations, everything. It would make you a very rich young woman.' Ruth continued. 'Not that you need the money, I know but…'

As a writer…I couldn't think of a word to say. Not one that could be repeated anyway!

'Look my dear. I'll let you get on with your week off. Don't forget the meeting at Curtis Brown next

Tuesday. Alright? We'll talk more then. Clarrie…Are you still there?'

'Um…Sorry Ruth. I'm a little shell shocked actually.' I confessed sheepishly.

'Well if you accept Summits offer, we have to talk about getting you a manager and publicist. Probably a personal assistant, maybe a secretary.'

'Whoa! Stop right there Ruth. Why would I need all those people. You and I have managed quite well without an entourage.'

'But things will be different if your book is turned into a film Clarrie.' Ruth replied casually. 'Look we'll talk more on Tuesday alright?'

I had a creeping feeling that Ruth Jenkins knew something I didn't.

Something I wasn't yet privy too. Something I may not like.

'Clarrie…Tuesday 11-30, okay?' Ruth asked. Snapping me from my thoughts.

'Yes, yes Ruth. I'll see you Tuesday.' I replied and ended the call.

I gazed down at my iphone incredulously.

I was sitting on a huge boulder looking out over the sea.

Watching the white horses crashing into each other in the distance.

An enormous container ship passing the island, on its way to Southampton docks and Ruth's words repeating like a broken record in my head.

'Someone is a fan of yours.'

Well, that was nice.

I knew a lot of people enjoyed my books.

'Has read all your romance and erotica stuff.'

Wait a minute…How did the so called fan know I'd written both sets of books?

What was the point of pseudonyms?

I sighed and grimaced as my phone vibrated in my hand, almost causing me to drop the damned thing into the wet sand.

'Hello.' I asked the unknown caller lamentably.

'Miss Clarrie…It's Rob Pa…'

'Oh great. Just what I needed. Please stop calling me Mr Angry. Don't ruin my day anymore than you have already. Just go about your business and leave me alone.' I said firmly.

I wasn't mad. I said please. I asked nicely.

'Are you having a rough day too?' I was taken aback by his sudden change in tone.

He sounded, well, sad is the only way to describe his voice now.

'I'm having a really…Strange day actually.' I confessed.

'Really? How so?' He asked. He seemed interested…I mean really interested.

'Well…Apart from a very rude encounter with an obnoxious twat…Several times today.

I have in fact had some rather good news but…' I suddenly felt very conscious about discussing my good news with a complete stranger.

'Do tell.' He said enthusiastically. 'I could do with hearing some good news for a change, even if its not mine.'

'Ah…Well…I'm a writer and…I'm about to be published.' I blurted out.

Not giving away the real story. 'Wow! That's amazing. Congratulations. I'll have to look out for your book Miss Clarrie .' The velvety voiced stranger giggled.

It was infectious.

The giggle I mean and quite astoundingly, I found myself giggling right along with him.

As my girly giggles continued. I wondered. Why the hell was I giggling?

He started laughing, deep guffaws of laughter rang in my ear.

'Why the hell are we laughing? I should be mad at you…' I chuckled uncontrollably.

'I'm…Ha Ha…Fucked if I know…Ha Ha.' He chortled through his laughter.

'Oh…My…God…Please stop…I'm crying here.'

'Ha ha…Jesus…I can't remember the last time…'

'I guess…I'll have to change your name…From Mr Angry to Mr Happy.' I chuckled jokingly.

'Yeah. I suppose you will Clarrie.' He said, as his cheeky infectious laughing fit slowly subsided.

'Oh crikey. I'm getting some really strange looks from people here Mr Happy.' I giggled, glancing up from the beach and spotting a young couple, watching me quizzically from the promenade.

'Where exactly is here?'

'Ventnor on the Isle…'

'Isle of Wight.' The stranger finished my sentence.

'Yes. Do you know it?'

'Very well, in fact…I um…Don't freak out okay but…I'm actually on my way there for a few days.'

'What? Here? On my island?' I stuttered nervously.

'Your island?' He chuckled. 'Do you own it then?'

'No…Obviously not. I just meant…My island, where I live, Mr Sarcastic.'

He laughed again. 'I stand corrected Miss Clarrie. Look I'm really sorry about…The ah…Misunderstanding this morning, okay?'

'Well…Thanks for the…Apology. I have to go. Have fun on my…On the island Mr Happy.' I said quietly.

'Wait Clarrie…I don't. Well, I'm usually adverse to this kind of suggestion but…Could I…I mean, would you…um…Would you like to…Well…'

'Spit it out.' I said impatiently.

'Would you like to meet me? I mean, when I get there. For a drink perhaps or dinner maybe.' He said in a rush.

'Meet you?'

'Yes…You sound…Well…To be honest. You sound nice and well, you made me laugh and…I think I owe you a proper apology'

'But you don't know anything about me and vice versa.' I told him.

There was a long pause.

'Okay well. You're obviously female. Your name is Clarrie and you're a writer who is about to be published. You live in my favourite part of the world. You're articulate, intelligent and funny. You like sarcasm and from your voice, I'd say you were in your late teens early twenties. Am I right so far?' He asked questioningly.

You know this voice was definitely getting to me.

There was something kind of familiar about it.

Hells teeth. What if the voice belonged to one of my past, few and far between one night stands?

I could count on one hand the number of conquests I'd had, in fact, I could count on three fingers.

I know pathetic right?

Twenty-four years old and still so inexperienced.

How the hell did I manage to write 7 Erotica books I hear you ask?

A good imagination and research, is my answer.

I certainly didn't write from experience.

'Are you still there?' The stranger asked.

'Yeah I'm here and yes, you're right. Well almost. I'm actually twenty-four.' I told him matter-of-factly.

'Ah, then I have the advantage of being older than you. I'm 25.' He laughed. There was that bloody laugh again…Infectious!

'Okay, so you're 25. Your name's Rob, you like to swear like a trooper and drink apparently. You have a sister called Lizzy…Anything else I should know? Are you a psychopath?' Oh for the love of all that's holy…Clarrie! What the hell…

He chuckled. 'Well I'm hardly likely to admit it, even if I was, now am I?'

'No…I suppose not. Okay, so what do you do for a living?' I asked questioningly.

'I…Um…Well I'm in security actually. I'm a personal bodyguard.' He answered.

I could hear a slight giggle in his voice. Ha…I was right…All brawn.

'Really…That's interesting. So who are you guarding now?'

My writer's brain going into overdrive.

I could get some background for a new story maybe.

'Um…Well…I'm not really allowed to say…You know confidentiality and all that.'

'Ohhh…Someone famous then?' I pushed. Knowing all the rock stars that would be visiting the island this week-end. I tried to imagine who he was working for.

'Oh please tell me it's Kings of Leon?' I asked, a little of my rock chick persona coming out to play.

'Sorry…I can't admit or deny that.' He laughed.

I could hear a noise suddenly, in the background, shouting almost screaming.

Lots of voices, then his.

'Oh shit Dean. Shut the fucking door quick.'

I heard a door slam. A car door by the sound of the loud clunk.

'Um…Clarrie, can I call you back? I have a bit of a situation here. I'm sorry. I have to go.'

'Okay bye then.' But he'd already ended the call.

Weird! The only word for it.

Weird and oddly…Well…Scary actually.

Hearing all that shouting and his obviously panicky voice made me wonder.

Who the hell was on the end of the line, and who was he guarding?