Despite the early time of year the sun shone hot on the sand and the wind was chasing crashing waves and salt crusted air onto the shore. The gulls were absent, no scent of food to call them to this particular stretch of beach. By all accounts, it should have been a relaxing day. Under most circumstances, a dream vacation.
Emmett didn't feel calm. He felt sick. A chill had settled over his skin and he could feel the thin hairs on his arms and neck standing on end. He kneeled down, braced his back against the base of a tree and tried not to puke. Was it something he'd eaten?
He was here for a job, he wanted to make a good impression.
An intense cold pressure at the base of his neck made him gasp aloud. Emmett slapped a hand at the spot, found it cold and wet. He heard a chuckle and when he turned to look the cold hit his cheek instead.
"Drink some water and get back under the tent before this heat does you in."
The guy walked away, leaving Emmett with his torture device, a half frozen bottle of water. His face warmed as he watched the guy go. Even from behind he looked well built. He wished he'd gotten his number; a promise to meet again in the evening…
Emmett shook off his want and stood up. If the guy was staff for the shoot he would be around. Time yet to find out if the stranger's interests went beyond helpfulness...
Emmett did as suggested, took a seat in the shade and chugged as much of the water as he could, pressing the bottle to his skin between gulps. Admittedly, he did start to feel better.
There was still a churning in his gut but that was more from nerves than the heat. This was a real photoshoot, not a favor from a friend of a friend. His very own agent had picked it out for him.
"Hey, can we get Candace and Emmett touched up? The photographer is ready to switch it up again."
Emmett glanced up as he heard his name called. It would be a relief to finally get in front of the camera and get it over with.
The makeup artist stopped by, blotted some sweat off Emmett's brow, dabbed a little more concealer into the corners of his eyes. Another person tousled and misted his hair once more before letting him loose.
Emmett took his place where the photographer pointed, let the stylist tug at buttons, collars, sleeve cuffs and pant legs until they were satisfied. The girl came in right behind him, he'd already forgotten her name. It was the same treatment for her, though most of the focus seemed to be on making sure her tits looked right in the bikini.
Emmett leaned back on a bit of broken fence. The photographer would probably ask him to anyway. The girl's head didn't even reach his shoulder, best to not dwarf her out of frame. Really, no one so far had come within a few inches of his height.
The crowd finally cleared and Emmett focused on the camera. This part was easy. Playing pretend. A couple on the beach, laughing, flirting. Easy, at least for Emmett. The girl kept getting chided, comment after comment to place her into the exact uncomfortable pose to show off all of her assets. He could see her eyes growing shiny with frustration.
It wasn't long before the photographer sent her away. Emmett remained, went through a wardrobe change right there on the beach, only a towel for cover. Swim trunks now, short enough that they would've shown off his ass if he'd had anything. The stylist considered him for another moment, then slipped another shirt over his shoulders. Emmett wondered what it was, too pale or too skinny?
The stylist moved on and someone was kind enough to stand by with an umbrella for shade and hand him another bottle of water. The camera, lights, reflectors, all of it was being shifted to point out at the water, readying a new scene.
"You're feeling better now, huh?"
Emmett turned, found himself face to face with his savior from before. His expression was cool, confident, and bare-chested as he was with only a wildly printed pair of swim briefs straining against his package, he had every right to be.
"I am feeling better, yeah."