My life couldn't have been more perfect.

I had a successful career as a painter, exactly what I had wanted to do since I was a child. My commissions brought me enough to have my own condo and to travel to places I only dreamed of reaching.

Then one day, if possible, my life got even better.

Of course, I didn't see it as that when my phone rang at eight on a Saturday morning after I had been bar hopping with my best friend the previous night. With a huge hangover and no desire to answer the phone, I still picked up.

It was Steven, my agent, bearing wonderful news. I had to do a portrait for a very important person. He couldn't even tell me the name, but he said he would arrange for me to be picked up next Tuesday from in front of my building and taken to the mysterious person.

When the fateful day arrived, I dressed smart and packed my best brushes and canvas. It wasn't something uncommon for me to paint celebrities. I had done it before, and I always kept it a secret. Even though it was hard when Daphne or Emmett, my best friends, begged, but I held my ground. The contract sworn me to secrecy. Besides, it got out in the news after a few months and everyone that knew me could figure out who had done their portrait.

A big Caddy limousine pulled up in front of me. A large man stepped out through the passenger's door.

“Mr. Taylor,” he greeted me.

“Uh, hello.” I eyed him dubiously.

He opened the back door for me. “Let me help with your bags.”

I slid in the car, surprised to find it empty.

I heard the trunk door shutting, then Big and Bulky got back in his seat in the front.

“Uh, sorry, but where is the person I have to meet?” It was the first time I felt unnerved when I had to meet a potential client.

“We're taking you there,” Big and Bulky answered, exchanging a look with the driver. “Would you prefer a car ride or plane ride? By car we will reach our destination in approximately five hours and by plane in less than one hour.”

“Where are we going,” I demanded, seriously getting worried about my safety.

I saw Big and Bulky exchanging another look with the driver, before he turned to me. “We can't divulge, though I can promise you that you are perfectly safe, Mr. Taylor.”

“That's what all mass murderers say before they kidnap their victim.”

“I'm afraid you'll have to take my word. So would you rather drive or fly?”

“Fly,” I answered curtly. The sooner we reached the destination, the better.

Who knows what woods we might encounter on the way if we drove?

I shuddered, huddling in the corner of the large backseat. I pulled my phone out to distract myself by chatting with Daphne, only to have it snatched from my hand by Big and Bulky, scaring the shit out of me in the process.

“Dude! I'm not calling the police. I believe you. You're the good guys. I'm talking to my best friend,” I explained.

“Where we are going—Who are you meeting—It's all confidential,” he said sternly.

“I know.” I rolled my eyes. “Now, can I have my phone back?”

“Of course.”

I didn't like his creepy smile. Inconspicuously, I checked my phone, sure he had done something to it. At first look, it seemed fine.

Daphne, I might not make it to dinner tonight. I'm meeting the new client. He's out of state, I think.

The phone pinged in my hand moments after I sent the text message.

You lucky cunt! Have fun!

I snorted. She was absolutely crazy, but I wouldn't have her any other way.

Don't call me tomorrow first thing in the morning. Wait till noon.

Sure. I have the graveyard shift at the hospital so I'll sleep until evening.

Take care. =)

I pocketed my phone as we reached the airport. Soon, I would know our destination.

Big and Bulky opened my door and I realized we were on the runway next to a small private airplane.

So much for knowing the destination.

As I followed the big guys up the stairs, I hoped I would meet the extravagant client. No such luck, of course.

The hottest flight attendant I had ever met brought me a drink, asking if I wanted anything else. There was something I wanted, all right, to introduce him to the Mile High Club.

“No, thank you.” I smiled, taking a gulp from my glass.

If I looked for too long at the flight attendant or too suggestively, it went unseen by Big and Bulky, for which I was grateful.

I lost many a client when they found out I was gay. Especially parents who wanted me to paint their child.

“So you're a bodyguard or something?” I asked, trying to make conversation with Big and Bulky.

“An agent,” he answered curtly.

“I see. Secret Agent Man.” I couldn't help but chuckle. “And does Mr. Agent have a name?”

The man's blue-gray eyes narrowed at me, and I took it as a hint to shut up.

I managed to doze off having nothing else to do and being bored out of my mind.

Once we landed, we got in another limousine SUV. I stayed glued to the window to get a peek at some touristic attraction of the city I was in, and then I saw the Washington Monument.

My stomach squirmed uncomfortably.

No way.

I glanced at Big and Bulky, busy speaking on his phone in quiet murmurs.

What are the chances that today I meet the President?

No sooner than the thought entered my mind, we were on Pennsylvania Avenue—the road that led to the White House.

Holy shit!

I wished I could text Daphne about this, but I knew I had to be even more careful than ever before.

We pulled up in front of the huge building. I had never visited it, because when my school had the trip planned I had ended up getting chicken pox from my baby sister. I resented her for weeks.

“This way, Mr. Taylor.” Big and Bulky led the way inside the building. He had my bag over his shoulder. He checked me and my bag thoroughly before leading me to the stairs. He stopped at the bottom, pressing a finger to his earbud, then like in the movies he confirmed The Painter had arrived to his sleeve microphone.

The Painter would be me. For a brief moment, I was sad I didn't have a special name like the President himself, you know...the Eagle.

I fidgeted, looking around, taking in the grandeur of the place.

“Never seen it?” Big and Bulky smirked.

Dazed, I shook my head. I needed someone to pinch me. This wasn't real.

“I bet you figured out who you're going to paint. The President is waiting for you.”

That sounded alien to my ears.

We proceeded upstairs to the second floor. Big and Bulky turned many corners and I knew I would get lost if I were left on my own. He stopped in front of a room. “This is the Yellow Oval Room. The President prefers it for non-formal meetings.”

I nodded, my mouth dry and my heart beating out of my chest.

He knocked once, before poking his head inside, then he opened the door wide gesturing for me to go in.

I walked in on jelly legs.

“Shut the door,” a soft voice said from the other side of the room.

I didn't have enough courage to look up, so I did as instructed, then deposited my bag on the floor.

“Well, come closer.”

Don't trip, I repeated in my head as I took a few steps to the elegant sofa.

There he was. Standing by the window, a glass of whiskey in hand.

God. I gulped thickly, doing my best not to undress him with my eyes. He was the hottest president we ever had. Hands down.

Tall and lean, always dressed impeccably. Chestnut hair, which I noticed was longer than the last time I had seen him on TV. Those plump, kissable lips. Chiseled jaw. Hazel eyes that could melt ice, yet turn the most torrid fire into ice.

“Hello,” I mumbled.

“Whiskey?” He offered with a small smile.

“Uh, sure.”

I usually told myself all celebrities were normal people just like me, but this was a special case. I was feet away from the President of the United States of America. He appeared to be as normal as the next guy, but he wasn't. He was a higher species.

I accepted the glass with trembling hands.

“So... Justin Taylor, famous painter of Pittsburgh, are you surprised to find yourself here?” the President asked, amused.

“You can say that...sir.”

He scoffed. “Don't. Please.”

“Oh...okay.”

The President traced the rim of his glass, watching me squirm. He probably got off on how nervous I was.

“Shall we sit?” He waved to the sofa.

“I guess.” I shrugged, taking a seat on the other side of the sofa. When he kept eyeing me amused, I plucked my courage to talk. “What did you have in mind for the portrait?”

His eyes hardened and I realized I made a mistake, only for the next second for the President to laugh loudly. “You don't beat around the bush, do you?”

I averted my eyes. “I'm sorry. It was quite blunt to ask that, but I'm curious why me.”

“Why not you?” He glanced to the right, and I followed his eyes.

“Holy fuck! Is that my painting?” I swear, my heart stopped for a nanosecond. My first try at still nature was above the mantle-place in the freaking White House.

“It's not the only one I have,” the President went on.

I turned to gape at him. I willed my mouth to close, but the shock was too grand.

“You're quite talented, Mr. Taylor. I want to hire you as my painter.”

“Y-your painter? What does that mean?”

“That means you don't have to find yourself another job until my term is over.”

“I thought you wanted your portrait done,” I said in disbelief.

“I do. I also want other pieces of art that you can create.”

“I'm sorry, sir. All I can offer is the desired portrait. I promise to dedicate all my time for however long necessary, but no one can buy me.”

“That's not what I meant. Though, I understand you and appreciate your sincerity.”

I sighed in relief. For a second, I thought I had kicked a huge opportunity with my pride.

“Where would you like to pose? I'm afraid to ruin any part of this house.” I managed a small smile.

He returned my smile. “I was thinking of Camp David or my home.”

I blinked. “I think I lost you,” I laughed nervously.

“You must know the President has a residence at Camp David. Everyone knows that. But I was thinking of taking a break from this madness and going home for a few days.”

“I'm sorry, I thought you lived here,” I mumbled.

“I do, though I have my own house. I wasn't born here and nor would I remain here after my term ends,” he explained gently, like I was mentally challenged. And maybe I was, because I couldn't think clearly around him.

A stretching silence settled between us.

I looked around the room, taking in the beautiful architecture. Then my eyes settled on the man beside me.

I was surprised to find him watching me.

“When are you free, Mr. Taylor?”

“Uh, I have a few free weeks coming up. I guess, it all depends on your time, sir.”

“Would you quit calling me that?” The President sighed loudly. He stretched his hand to me. “Brian Kinney.”

I stared at his hand for a long moment, before I grasped it in mine. So big and manly. I had to cross my legs so he wouldn't see my preteen reaction.

If only his brief touch gave me an instant hard-on, I wondered what would happen if he touched me for longer. Then I shook my head, and focused on the present moment.

The President had just presented himself to me as the man.

“Justin Taylor,” I said lamely.

He smirked, dropping my hand. “Well, Mr. Taylor, is it all right if I contact you by the end of the week with details? I haven't decided yet where I want to go.”

“Sure.” Thinking that was all, I stood. “So, I guess this is it.”

“In a hurry to leave?”

My eyes widened. “Oh, I thought...”

“Ben says you haven't visited the White House before.”

“Ben,” I repeated, dumbly.

“My security man. He brought you here.”

“Oh, Big and Bulky.” I chuckled.

The President threw his head back, laughing loudly. “He'd love the nickname. Shall I give you the grand tour?”

“You?” I gasped.

“Is there something wrong with me introducing you to my house?” the President teased, standing and downing his drink.

“No. I thought you were busy...”

“I'm not needed anywhere at the moment. So would you like to start the tour?”

“Yeah. I'd love to.” I grinned, feeling so much excitement.

We went out of the room and back the way Big and Bulky had brought me. The President started with the library, saying it was his favorite place.

“Can I ask how you escaped the customary visit to the White House as a student?” he asked, while we walked through the rows of books.

I might have blushed. “I had chicken pox, no thanks to my younger sister.”

“Ah, don't look so put out. You're getting the tour by the President himself. Not many have this privilege,” he joked.

I grinned, tracing a finger over the spine of the books in front of me. “It feels surreal,” I admitted.

He leaned closer as if he didn't want anyone to hear which was crazy since we were alone. “I'll let you on a secret. I've never seen the White House until I became president.”

I snorted, watching him incredulously. “Must have been interesting.”

“You have no idea. Ben is a life-saver. I got lost more times than I care to admit.”

“That's why you earned the title as the Never on Time President.”

“Fashionably late is in trend.” He shrugged.

I got the most thorough tour anyone ever got. I was aware some of these rooms were closed for public visits, especially the ones from upstairs.

He even showed me the Lincoln bedroom, which he admitted it was his favorite bedroom in the house.

We moved the visit to the grounds. The second we stepped outside the house, Big and Bulky along with his clone, appeared from out of nowhere, walking a few feet behind us.

“Don't mind them,” the President said quietly.

The South Lawn was beautiful and inspired me so much that I couldn't wait to get home and paint.

As we walked, we kept the conversation light, about the architecture and funny stories from various visitors of foreign countries, but never about his family.

I knew he was the only president we ever had to be single, but openly acknowledge he had a son. Most American families were in his situation, divorced or separated, so his social points were higher than anyone else's. He wasn't into bullshit to portray a happy family, when it was clear his relationship had ended badly.

No one knew who the kid or his ex-wife were. He never discussed it, always saying it was part of his private life and he would prefer if it was kept it that way.

I couldn't hold my tongue about this anymore. “Okay, I know you're the first single president, but you don't even have a dog.”

He chuckled. “Actually, I have one. I hear it's a must. If you think about it, I'm the model President. I have a child and a dog.”

“But you're not a family man.”

“And apparently no one gives a shit about it. I'm still liked by the people.”

“You've done more than anyone before you,” I admitted. I wanted to compliment him about insisting on equal rights for gay people, but that would be a dead give-away.

“Ah, you mentioned not meeting my dog. Brace yourself,” he said lightly.

I didn't have time to brace myself. Before I realized what happened, I was flat on my back with a huge bear of dog on top of me, breathing on my face, licking me enthusiastically.

“Bruce!”

I pushed the dog's head away to stare at the President, towering over us. Thinking he had forgotten my name, I mumbled that my name was Justin.

He chuckled, dragging his dog off me. “I know your name, Justin. This is Bruce.” He petted the beast's head.

“Oh. Holy shit. He's huge.”

“He's a Caucasian Shepard. And he's still young, only two years old.” The President stroked the black fur.

“So all things big in this house start with B?” I laughed nervously. “Big and Bulky there. Bruce here.”

He smirked, his eyes sparkling. “Brian here,” he added on a seductive voice, or so I perceived it.

I realized my mistake too late. “Oh. I didn't mean...”

“Brian.” Big and Bulky called from his spot a few feet away.

The President looked up, frowning. “I'll be right back. He's big and silly, so don't worry. He won't bite,” he explained, pointing to his dog.

I sat up on my knees, reaching a tentative hand to stroke the dog's head. He closed his eyes, whining.

“Huh. So Bruce, you must live like a king here.” I ruffled his fur. I found his collar in his thick fur. The tag read Bruce on a side, and on the other were the President's initials.

“Mr. Taylor, I'm afraid we have to cut our meeting short. Duty calls. Drew will take you home.” The President gestured to the other Secret Agent.

I sat up, brushing the grass off my jeans. “It's okay. I'll have to get my bag.”

“Drew already has it in the car for you.”

“Brian,” Big and Bulky said urgently.

“I'm coming, I'm coming. Later.” The President shook my hand again, maybe squeezing it a little more than necessary, before hurrying after Ben.

Bruce ran after him, his tail wagging in the air.

I went to where Drew was waiting for me, and after a final look at the big house, I got in the car. I had a feeling I would never see it again. It felt like my dream was coming to an end, when in reality it had just began.