Here’s an excerpt from my book. Tell me if you like it?

The burly young man rose from his seated position. He eyed the scintillating chessboard and wondered which piece to move next. It was becoming more and more obvious to him that he was going to lose the game. Keeping one good eye on his opponent, he brushed his thick fingers through his dark silky hair and then reached for a rook with his other hand. He moved his chess piece that had been fashioned out of gold and encrusted with diamonds. He grunted out of frustration.
The young man seated before him in an office chair was me. I, in turn, moved my rook.
“Check,” I declared with a wry smile painted across my usually intense face.
“I’ve never really liked this game you know,” said the standing man, his skin reddened by the warm sun outside.
“Play your next move Chris,” I said to him. He was Christopher Cruez, a renowned business mogul and close friend of mine. He was a good 2, 5 metres tall; casting a giant shadow over the diamond encrusted chessboard that lay on the dark Oakwood coffee table. Christopher was heir to the Cruez fortune. Soon he would inherit from his father - Vincent Cruez - a six-billion dollar company and two billion dollars worth of stocks and other financial assets. However, Christopher, in his personal capacity, was a Rand-billionaire.
I sat before him waiting for him to execute his final move before I put him in checkmate.
“And that’s because I’ve never understood it. I’m not a strategist…” he replied in his own defence, fixing his purple Turnbul and Asser tie.
“My dear friend,” I started, eyeing him from my seated position in my office chair. “Chess is like life. You have to have contingencies for every unplanned occurrence. You have to be on the ball, think ahead!” I said coolly.
“Blah, blah, blah! I’m a self-made billionaire for goodness sake. I think I understand life pretty well.” Christopher sat down and poured himself some sweet white wine. Drinking the wine proved to be a difficult task for him as his thick fingers failed to grasp the neck of the glass wine properly. So he opted to make use of a tumbler instead.
“That point is arguable,” I retorted with a grin.
Chris rolled his eyes.
The clear sunlight filtered through the white lace curtain and illuminated the wooden walls of the normally dark office. The calming sounds of the sea water lapping outside made me think on the new friends I had made in the last few months. Some of them were basking in the glory of the sun outside. I could never understand how people could lay in the sun’s full glare and enjoy it. I thought on them momentarily then cast the memory aside and poured myself a glass of the wine.
I sipped the wine to get a feel for it. It was sweet and quite fortified; a colourful collusion of pristine pinotage and savoury sauvignon. Truly, I thought, it was nurtured to perfection.
I admired my office; it was exactly how I had wanted it to be. Decorating the spacious office had been an easy task for me; I wanted it to resound of my personality. Large original masterpiece paintings adorned the bright walls. Having painted each one myself, I found a fond memory in each one of them. Every one of them was reminiscent of a specific time in my life, I thought on some of those times briefly.
Japan.
Fond memories of the time I spent in that country bounded into my mind. The wonderful people I had left behind: Sui Lee, Man Ting; they were good friends and business partners.
“Are you thinking about the good old days?” Chris asked taking a sip of wine from the glass tumbler, his stubby fingers now wrapped comfortably around the drinking-glass.
“Yes,” I replied, putting aside my serendipitous memories.
“You know,” began Chris,” it should actually go down in history.”
I stared back at him quizzically.
“Don’t you think so?” Chris gulped down the last of the wine in his glass.
“I’m not sure I understand you,” I said looking at my friend, eyes wide.
“Everything we had to do to get here… To get where we are right now! Sibusiso,” he exclaimed excitedly, “why don’t you write another novel… Except this one won’t be about fictional characters… It’ll be about us!”
I considered it and sighed thoughtfully. It was obviously a way for Chris to get out of losing another game of chess to me, but it was a good idea nonetheless.
“You’re a genius,” I told him before swinging round in my swivelling office chair.
“I know I am,” Chris said grinning.
“But we’re still going to finish our game of chess!” I declared. Then I pulled my laptop closer, opened a word-processing program and began frantically typing away. I wondered what the first chapter would be called. Where I would begin the story? Then it struck me: “Putrid Plots”
The excerpt is simply the prologue. The story itself I have almost completed.
Thank you to those who gave constructive critism. It is highly appreciated.

I will make the necessary changes. Your concerns and encouragement is appreciated too.

The book, however was perused by an editor of a reknowned publishing company in the UK. Her take was similar to the feedback I received from the respondents below who are actually writers themselves.

Your input is invaluable.

~Sisquo~