“Just left him.” Luke braced one shoulder on the doorjamb and idly noted how different Cole’s office was from their grandfather’s. Smaller, of course, but that was to be expected. It was more than that, though. Cole’s desk was steel and glass, his desk chair black leather minimalist. Shelves were lined with some of the toys their company had produced over the years, but the walls were dotted with professionally done photos of his wife, Susan, and their toddler son, Oliver—skiing in Switzerland, visiting the Pyramids and aboard the family yacht. Cole had always been more interested in playing than in the work required to make the money to do the playing.

Luke dismissed it all and met his cousin’s eyes. “Wanted to warn you that he’s still not happy about me leaving.”

Cole leaned back in his desk chair and steepled his fingers. “No surprise there. You were the golden boy, destined to run Barrett Toys...”

Bitterness colored Cole’s tone, but Luke was used to that. “That’s changed.”

“Only because you left.” His cousin shook his head. “Pop is still determined to bring you back into the fold.”

Pushing away from the wall, Luke straightened up. “Not going to happen. I’ve got my own company now.”

Cole swung his chair lazily back and forth. “It’s not Barrett, though, is it?”

No, it wasn’t. A start-up company was fun. Challenging, even. But it wasn’t like running Barrett’s. He’d poured a lot of work and heart into the family business. But feeling as he did now, that his grandfather didn’t trust him, how could he run Barrett’s with any sort of confidence? “It will be,” he said, with determination. “Someday.”

“Right. Anyway.” Cole stood up, slipped his suit jacket on and buttoned it. “I’ve got a lunch meeting.”

“Fine. Just...” He thought about Pop, rooting around for those papers and looking confused about why he couldn’t find them. “Keep me posted on Pop, will you?”

“Why?”

Luke shrugged. “He’s getting old.”

“Not to hear him tell it,” Cole said with a short scrape of a laugh.

“Yeah, I know that.” Luke nodded and told himself he’d done what he’d gone there to do—try one more time to get through to his grandfather. Make him see reason. Now it was time to move the hell on. “All right, then. I’ve got a plane to catch. So, say hello to Susan and Oliver for me.”

“I will.”

When he walked out, Luke didn’t look back.

Jamison stood at his open office door and watched his grandson. An all-too-familiar stir of frustration had him falling back into the old habit of jingling the coins in his pockets.

“You’re jingling.”

He stopped instantly and shot a look at his assistant.

“Didn’t work, did it?” she asked.

“No one likes hearing ‘I told you so,’ Donna.”