And here’s a taste from the second chapter:
The doctor makes a diagnosis
The Vision reappeared.
Maxime rose as if hypnotized and followed the young lady down the endless hallway toward a small room at the back. Shafts of morning light burst in through a side window, enveloping them in gold and accentuating the female form that floated ahead of him—the black leggings hugged her perfect bottom, firm thighs, and toned legs. Dear Lord, this hallway had better come to an end.
He immediately recited the fifth rule on the first page: Don’t take what does not belong to you.
Maxime, don’t be an asshole.
Dr. Moller was going to be so upset with him, thinking he had been neglecting his blood pressure, while it was all due to this enchantress, this Siren. He should tell Dr. Moller to make his staff wear shapeless scrubs, with long lab coats buttoned closed at the neck, that covered everything. Anybody who knew anything about white lab coats and body contours and testosterone would bloody well know this was the smart thing to do.
“The doctor will be with you shortly, Mr. Bowman,” the Vision murmured.
“Danke,” Maxime whispered as he dropped into the chair in the small examination room, grateful for time to compose himself. He closed his eyes and focused on his breathing.
He could feel his heart rate settle down.
Maxime loosened his tie. He felt warm and slipped out of his jacket. The room was too small. Dr. Moller wouldn’t mind—he had the impression that the doctor was always overheating, hence his customary wearing of short-sleeved Hawaiian shirts. Maxime remembered the burn on his shirt, sighed and slipped his jacket back on.
Maxime owned five suits and ten collared shirts. There was one suit for each workday in a week. Today he had on his newest suit, the gray one with the thin stripes, the one he had bought in January. Maxime always wore white shirts to work or when he went to see his doctor. It was the right thing to do. Maxime believed he knew a thing or two about fashion; scheduled today: tan shoes and a tan belt. Shoes had to match the belt, and ties always matched socks. Anybody who knew anything about fashion and dressing smart, even if they were sixty-four-and-a-half, bloody well knew that.
Maxime Baumann was a modest man, insofar as he could speak for himself. Didn’t he painstakingly follow rule eleven on page two, which stated: Don’t ever think of yourself as a smart aleck? He could never understand the gentle smirks he received from Donna and the boys when he claimed just that, especially when they noticed his socks. For the past ten years, but more so the past five, the one thing Maxime had spoiled himself with was colorful socks.
Today was his yellow-socks-with-gray-stripes day.
Maxime thought about Mr. J. Johnson, his boss. He had his reservations about whether one should call him his “boss,” since he was only the senior partner, in charge of Johnson, Johnson & McBride, attorneys at law. Maxime snorted. They were nothing more than glorified underwriters of properties (business and residential), mere pencil-pushers. They were real estate lawyers. Maxime stuck to what he loved: residential property. He always prayed that his clients would be honest and not succumb to fraud, and it served him well. He couldn’t remember when he had last seen the inside of a courtroom. He was okay with that. He was a senior partner now. Haha, he snorted again. Senior partner—the only other partner.
He, Maxime Baumann, had been hoping he could retire in six months’ time, at sixty-five. But no. Mr. C. Johnson, the brother of Mr. J. Johnson, had to go and have a massive heart attack. Died on the spot. Just like that, without even consulting Maxime. Inconsiderate man. That had been over a month ago.
Thank you for reading! (If you enjoyed it, please tell your friends.)
The novel will be launched on 31 October 2017. It will be available in eBook and paperback format. It will then be available on Amazon, Nook, Kobo, and iBook.