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Suddenly outraged, I spin on my heel. “Who the he—” I choke back my words immediately.
Rogue crosses his arms over his muscular chest. “You okay?”
Unable to form a sentence, I stare into deep brown orbs. “I, um… what’re…I mean… what?”
Rogue’s lips curve. “You okay?”
I take a deep breath to calm myself before trying to respond again. “Yeah, I’m good. You scared the shit out of me.”
“You never answered my question,” he says pointedly.
“Yeah, I did,” I argue. “I said I was fine.”
“No, I asked you what the fuck you think you’re doing?”
“Excuse me?” I ask incredulously.
“Skye.” He looks up at the ceiling, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I come around the corner to find you standing on your tiptoes on the top step of the ladder, trying to pull down a full box of whiskey bottles.”
“Exactly.” I put my hands on my hips. “I’m doing my job.”
“We’ve had this discussion.”
Oh fuck…
“Not my first rodeo.” I cross my arms, not wanting to back down. “I’ve done this a million times.”
“Tony!” Rogue bellows over his shoulder before focusing his attention back on me. “And I’ve told you that if you need something off a high shelf, have someone at least hold the ladder, or have them get it for you.”
Tony skids to a stop inside the door. “Yeah, boss?” he asks as he takes in the scene in front of him. “What the hell happened?”
“That’s what I’d like to know,” Rogue says, turning to face him. Then he points at me. “Why did I come down the hall to find Skye on the step ladder, standing on her toes and reaching for a heavy ass box of alcohol on the top shelf? Anyone on a ladder, male or female, needs to have a spotter. I don’t give a shit who you are.” He glares directly at me as if he’s waiting for me to argue. “The rules are in place for a reason. This is how fucking accidents happen. Remember when Connie fell last year and we paid out a shit-ton for worker’s comp?”
“Shit, sorry, Rogue.” Tony shakes his head. “Those boxes were on the bottom shelves the other day. I had no idea someone had moved them.”
Waylon pushes his way into the room. “Jesus, what the fuck happened in here?”
My face heats with embarrassment. “I dropped the box.”
“That’s the top-shelf whiskey!” Waylon screams. “Damn it, Skye, that’s coming out of your check.”
I nod because I can’t disagree. He’s right, I dropped it. I should’ve been more careful and had Tony help me.
“No, she’s not,” Rogue growls. “I startled her, but from now on, no one uses a fucking ladder unless someone else is there to help.”
“I’m perfectly capable of grabbing a box,” I mumble.
Shut up, mouth… you’re poking a bear.
“Obviously,” Waylon says with disdain.
“Who put those on the top shelf?” Rogue looks between Tony and Waylon.
“I did,” Waylon admits. “It’s the good stuff. I didn’t want anyone mixing it up with the other whiskey.”
Rogue cracks his neck as if this conversation is getting on his last nerve. “Next time, tell your staff when you move shit around.” He points a finger at me. “You stay off the goddamn ladders unless you have help. That could’ve been more serious if I hadn’t been there to catch you.”
I bite my tongue to keep from spewing what I really want to say. Technically, it was his fault I fell because he startled me. Instead, I dip my chin.
