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The first of the five-book series, this work is meant for mature readers only, age18 and above.
"When can you come for an interview?"
"Uh... " Vicky stammered. "Well, you mean, to New Mexico?"
"Yes, Springfield, in person. Sooner the better. Are you free tomorrow?"
"Oh, no," Vicky said. "I'm sorry. I've got meetings all this week."
"Monday?"
"I can make the morning work," Vicky said. "But I need to be back here by 2 that day."
"Not a problem. We'll fly you in Sunday night, do the interviews 8 to 11 Monday morning, get you back to Baton Rouge by 12:30."
"If you can find flights that work," Vicky warned.
"Private jet," Jack said.
"Oh, yeah," Vicky said, surprise obvious in her voice. "Great!"
"Okay," Jack said. "But one thing you need to know before you get here, and I'd prefer that you kept this to yourself, please."
"Yes?'
"Interviews are clothing optional."
"I... beg your pardon?"
"It's not something generally known, but all our offices here are clothing optional. And most employees opt."
"Opt?" Vicky repeated.
"Yes. Go nude. Mesa Springs - our original headquarters town - was founded as a clothing-optional village, and the company, uh, followed suit - no pun intended."
"So... " Vicky stammered.
"You can wear whatever you want," Jack said. "But if nudity offends you, this wouldn't be the job for you. You are 100 percent welcome to wear whatever you want while you're with us though."
"Okay. But that's fine. I'm not... " Vicky said, clearing her throat. "I'm not offended."
"Great. And just to be clear, there's a whole underlying philosophy you'd be welcome to explore, should you join us. Or even if you don't. We really believe in how we live."
"Yes," Vicky said. "That's great."
"Glad to hear it," Jack said. "So, I'll text you with flight details as soon as I get them. Probably try to get you in the air around six or seven Sunday night. Dinner on the plane. Chicken good?"
"Sure," Vicky said. "Thank you!"
"Bye."
"Buh-bye."
Vicky hung up her phone, set it down on the bench next to her, picked it up, stared at it, punched in several searches, found the name of Jack Brisk, HR director at Mesa Heights, continued searching, found the corporate address at Mesa Heights Road, in Springfield, New Mexico, a town about which virtually no information was available other than its zip code and a small, non-descript city hall website. Springfield showed up on the map as a suburb of Mesa Springs, and Mesa Springs showed up as one of America's larger clothing-optional towns, with a population of about 12,000.
Vicky set her phone down, picked it back up, wrote another text.
"I just heard from Mesa Heights!" she wrote to her husband, Herman. "If it's not a joke, I'm interviewing for CFO Monday morning, flying out Sunday night!"
"That's great!" came the text back almost immediately.
As Vicky headed back to her office, through the front door and up the main elevator this time, her phone buzzed again.
"Wait, wait," read a second text from Herman. "Mesa Heights???? The Mesa Heights???"
"Yes!" she texted back.
"CFO? Really? CFO?"
"That's what they said," Vicky replied. "Flying me on a private jet. And don't sound so surprised!"
"Sorry," Herman wrote. "So you're not surprised?"
"Uh," she texted back, "Mind blown might be the best way to put it."
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