Christmas parties were not usually Roman's thing. His mother had never really celebrated, so the only Christmases he'd known had been spent at his cousin's house. But, his father had made multiple endowments to the college, a relationship that Roman had reinvested in recently by donating supplies and money into the school's medical program. He'd allowed the Dean of the Medical School, even if any bright young minds that came to work for him would be to Pryce's benefit, not his. Not to mention that they'd be casually selling their souls. But wasn't that the whole point? At least Doctors, on the patient side of things at least pretended like they gave a damn. And he was sure he could talk his uncle -- father -- Norman into taking on interns at Hemlock Acres.
Roman had always wanted to be the good guy, doing the right thing, even if his last name made that all but impossible. So here he was, the youngest person in the room, and also the richest. He didn't go out of his say to solicit anyone, but instead mostly lingered by the drink table, garishly decorated with fake holly and flashing red and green Christmas lights. It was almost like something out of one of those chintzy 50s holiday films they played in black and white on AMC from the day after Holloween up until Christmas. Almost, because there were faculty in lab coats, students that couldn't be bothered to put on a fucking blazer, and then there was Roman. Slicked back hair, perfectly tailored suit, Italian leather shoes, a cranberry red shirt as a vague nod to the season (and also his favorite color).
He played nice when people approached him, though. He made pleasant conversation with the faculty members, some of his business rivals, even if he could feel them looking down on him no matter how much he leaned into his six-foot-four height advantage. Fuckers. He was flipping them off in his head even as he wished them happy holidays. The students were like a breath of fresh air, people he could relate to, even when everyone was at least a few years older than he was. He got to spend a good half hour talking about Call of Duty, and that was more or less the highlight of the evening so far for him. He was nursing a glass of eggnog that he had clandestinely laced with a generous amount of scotch behind the bartender's back.
The Dean was waving him over, and Roman turned, sharply pushing away from where the drinks were being served, only to find himself running into someone, in what was possibly one of his least graceful moments, despite the almost dancer's build of his long limbs.
"Are you serious?" He snapped with a roll of his eyes. Not actually upset, just a little frazzled.
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