Disclaimer:
This story is purely fictional. Any names, persons, and events depicted in this work are fictional and parody.
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Mr. Trump has been estranged from his wife for quite some time. But he is rather happy with a rather young girlfriend who lo...
How was she even able to get out the door without Mr. Trump noticing? As intuitive and protective with her as he is? Well...she did put on her best game face, dragging herself out of bed as he calls for her to wake up, then simply doing her regular morning tasks. Maybe it was her emotional night over the news reports that ironically became a cover for the weird stressed look on her face. Plus the waves of nausea wasn't as bad that morning, before she had her snack on the train.
She decides to get off at Sixth Avenue to take the long way back, taking her time walking to prolong her arrival at Trump Tower, grabbing and consuming a soup and ginger tea in the process.
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"So far so good."
The girl giggles to herself, as she covers herself with the soft plush white blanket, feeling successful about getting past security and through the lobby without detection. If anyone recognized her, they didn't say anything to her.
She looks at the clock, 11am, before falling gently to sleep.
Fluffy clouds, rainbows, soft deep hugs, NAUSEA...her sweet dreams were dashed with an interruption - rather another urge to throw up causing her to shoot out the bed and run to the bathroom, only to lose her meager lunch of soup and tea onto the shiny marble floor.
"Oh nooo! I better clean this quick!" o_o
The last thing she'd want Trump to see upon returning is a big MESS on his beautiful marble floor. He probably will have a fit, for sure.
Not to mention it's her plan to keep this whole thing a secret.
Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Please don't throw up anymore! You got this!
J closes her eyes, giving herself a pep talk before getting down to business. After controlling the nasty feeling sensation, she gets to work, searching for the bleach and cleaning material.
After procuring the bleach under the sink, the mop and bucket proved to be a harder find in the massive immaculate apartment. It obviously wasn't in the perfectly arranged bathroom, it's not in the kitchen...where could it be??! Eventually she settled for paper towels with a good old fashioned splash of water with a tiny bit of bleach, "mopping" the floor with her hands.
It'll get done. She thinks determinedly as she picks up all the mess with a bunch of paper towels and throws it into the nearby little waste basket.
Now I just have to dry the excess water. Then somehow, figure out how to take out the tra-.
"Put it down. Now."
The stern commanding voice cuts through her thoughts, causing her to pause what she's doing.
Couldn't be! It's only about noon, right?! Why is he here...?
She tentatively turns around, only to find no one other than Donald Trump, her Mr. Trump, standing in the bathroom doorway. Annnd he looks pretty annoyed.
