He was determined to change things. Simon Kent was not one to stand idly by and let others get the upper hand. There wasn’t anything that went on in this building Kent didn’t know about. Well, after this afternoon he had to admit, there wasn’t much that went on he didn’t know about.
Kent slammed his fist on his desk thinking about it. He had been at HRT a long time. He deserved better than this and, by God, he was going to get it. He’d crushed worthier opponents before than Ian Justyn. Simon Kent was a gladiator, and no one could defeat him.
The man knew when to strike, knew when to out maneuver and knew when to sit back and watch an opponent kill himself. Kent had laid low long enough. He had bided his time waiting for Jack Tolan’s position and he was going to get it. This network was his. No one was taking it from him, especially an upstart who had just crawled out from under some mountain crag.
Simon took a deep breath, and walked to the window of his office, third from the top. “Just one more floor.” He thought out loud and paced the floor. He'd tossed people a lot more talented than Justyn under the bus before. Why did this little gnat keep escaping the tire tread?
What did Ian Justyn have that kept allowing him to one up him? Granted he was younger, and Kent had to admit, more talented. Talent never had anything to do with it, otherwise Kent himself would have never lasted. Hell, most of the people in this town wouldn’t have made it if the game was based on talent.
This was corporate “Survivor”—out wit, out play, out last. Kent was a genius at the game. He’d dedicated his life to it, to this network for over thirty years. He’d stolen the recipe, stirred the pot and served up revenge long before that brother and sister got together and procreated Ian Justyn.
Obviously, he had underestimated him. Somehow the little rat had gotten in some pretty good bites. Kent knew the tables had turned and it was his clock that was now ticking. There wasn’t much time left. The boy had dazzled them all, but he hadn’t fooled Kent.
“Yes.” Simon smiled. Justyn thought he was down for the count. What a better time to cut him off at the knees? If he could just keep himself in the game until it was obvious that the Hunka Hunka HRT was little more than a forgettable wet dream.
He looked at the memo of the new Fall Schedule. Kent curled up his lips when he looked over all that Justyn had managed to get done behind everyone’s backs. He wished he’d thought of it first. It was all ridiculous.
It was a simple matter of hanging on until the fall. Moving the highest rated show to Saturday night? Ha! And that pulpy science fiction thing as a soap in late afternoon? Simon laughed out loud. As soon as the ratings dive bombed, Justyn would be toast and the board would come snacking on his hors d’oeuvre again.
“Well…” Kent ogled his reflection in the window. “The brat thinks the war is over. What better time to sneak up behind him and show him exactly who Caesar is.”
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