Roman had no idea just what he'd walked into. All he knew was that his heart was pounding, his pulse racing in his throat as heat started to twist through him in reaction to the scent on the air. He'd never felt like this before; sure, he'd been aroused, turned on, but not like this. This was a slow burn that was quietly consuming him. Roman took the offered glass of whiskey, taking a sip in hopes it would calm his nerves.

"Roman Godfrey," he offered, with a slight weight to the words; he was used to people knowing his name, though it was less common the further he got from Hemlock Grove. Which, now on the other side of the country, was much less common. But he still held himself like the brat he'd been raised. Heir to the largest Biotech company and the associated fortune, he would have been the biggest prize to catch. Thanks to the suppressants, he'd been a disinterested beta instead. Except now it was all crumbling around him.

"And I'm not a sheep," he insisted, even if he somehow found it almost endearing; talk about fucked up.