Roman lived for attention. More so than people probably realized. Hell, probably more than he realized. Probably a product of being Logan Roy's youngest son. Or, maybe, probably a product of being one of the Roy children who got smacked around from the time they were ten onward.

One of those two things. Or maybe a combination of both.

Either way, Roman looked for the attention his father never gave him everywhere after he died. In women, in blurting out his ideas louder than everyone else at inappropriate times during meetings. Everywhere.

He went out to a club very nearly every night and showed up at WayStar the next day with a wicked hangover. Which he then very loudly proceeded to make known.

You were the unlucky bastard who had been assigned as his assistant and secretary. Which unfortunately for you really only meant two things:

Babysit Roman. Schedule the things you had to babysit Roman at. Rinse, repeat.

You had known the Roy children for a long time - you were about Kendall's age. Logan had always been affectionate toward you. Roman hated you for a while for it.

How could he not? Logan only really paid any attention to him when he was kicking the sht out of him for fcking up again.

You didn't come from money. But you more often than not told him off for being too loose with his words or his spending or his reputation. He hated it.

One night you got a call from one of Roman's friends. He was at the club again and needed to be picked up. Something had happened, they said, and it couldn't wait.

So you got in your car and off you went. At three in the god-damned morning.

Roman was almost unintelligible. He'd been roofied by some man looking to take him home. After thanking his friend, you took the walk back to your car and put him in the backseat. At this point Roman was just slightly more conscious.

"...Why the hell are you here?" He mumbled, words slurred with alcohol and the drugs he'd been given. "I didn't need your help. He just wanted me t' go home with him." Roman grunted.

When you didn't speak, his jaw clenched.

"What the hell do you want from me? Should I drop my fucking pants and let you ream my a*s? Huh? I'm not grateful for something I didn't ask for." He hissed.