Welcome to the World of Shakedown

Tough Road is live! This novella will introduce you to the world of Shakedown, a burlesque club built for second chances — but only for the worthy. 
About Tough Road
For the last three years Trick Masters has been consumed with revenge. He lost everything from his job to his friends to nearly his mind while in prison. Now free, he’s getting his life back on track, first by finding ex-fiancé Rachel—the woman he’s convinced set him up.
⭐️⭐️ ⭐️ ⭐️ ⭐️ Early Reviews ⭐️⭐️ ⭐️ ⭐️ ⭐️    
“There is just so much about this story that I loved, it’s hard to put it all into words!” ~Joy, Amazon Reviewer~
“This is a fabulous start to a new series and seriously, not to be missed.”  ~Book Buddies, Amazon Reviewer~
“It’s sexy, fun, full of sass, and had all the right moments to really indulge in the characters.”  ~Bonnie, Amazon Reviewer~
“Do yourself a favor and pick this little gem up.”  ~Rhonda, Goodreads Reviewer~
“I always, always enjoy an Elizabeth Safleur romance. She creates such marvelous characters.”   ~Melanie Marnell, Goodreads Reviewer~
 What a wild ride!  ~Elaine, Goodreads Reviewer~

Meet Jonathan Brond of ELITE; First Book of the Elite Doms of Washington

Lovely: Elite Doms of Washington (Book 1)

By the age of thirty, Congressman Jonathan Brond had mastered his work, his reputation and the art of female seduction while keeping his family’s political legacy intact. To the rest of the world he appears a committed public servant – with no time to settle down with a woman. But reporter Clarisse Walker suspects Jonathan Brond’s story contains more than a desire to rise up the political ranks. 


The Interview Part One

Clarisse Walker stepped inside the Four Seasons’ lobby and inhaled the smell of Chanel No. 5 perfume and roses. She chose the venue in Georgetown as the setting for her interview with Congressman Jonathan Brond knowing he’d fit right in with the old money crowd. Besides, the hotel offered a charming formal tea on Sunday afternoons, and she hoped the casual atmosphere might relax the enigmatic man. She’d had enough of regurgitating politicians’ platforms in her column. This time she wanted to reveal the man—the real man.

When he arrived looking like he’d just stepped off a men’s fashion runway, she knew she chose the right location. Congressman Brond belonged in luxury settings.

A waitress set down a silver tray brimming with finger sandwiches before them and nodded once at the congressman, as if relaying a secret code.

After he folded himself onto an overstuffed chintz sofa, she pulled out her pad, pen and a small digital recorder.

“Thank you for agreeing to meet with me,” she said. She turned on the digital tape recorder without asking his permission. It was bold, but whatever…

He smiled. “High tea. An interesting choice.”

Ignoring her move. Okay, then. He adjusted his jacket—no ordinary Brooks Brothers’ suit. Of course, a member of the Brond family could afford Armani if he chose.

“You like tea?” she asked.

“I like ceremony. May I?” He held up a small silver pot.

She shook her head. She preferred coffee. “Your father seems particularly proud of your accomplishments. Thirty-years old seems awfully young to have risen to such prominence.”

“Are you sure?”

“Well, only a handful of people have ever been elected–

“No, I meant about the tea.”

“Okay, just a little.”

He held his tie as he poured her a full cup.

She studied him.  “You don’t mind being here. Sitting on a flowered couch, drinking tea in a room full of older women who still eat cucumber sandwiches.”

He chuckled.

She held the cup up to her lips and dared a return smile. “I think it’s because you’re more comfortable around women.”

He leaned back against the sofa cushion. A bouquet of fresh roses graced the table next to him. Instead of feminizing the man, the environment only showcased his masculinity.

Well, she wasn’t about to be intimidated. “So, tell me, Congressman. What’s the real story about your break-up with Laurel Dane?”

“Jumping right into it, are we? Did you ask Senator McCauley about his personal life?”

“You read my piece on him last week. I’m flattered.”

He leaned forward and his energy nearly sent her back into the cushions. “I don’t talk about women I’ve been involved with. Do you have any real questions?”

“These aren’t real?”

“No one cares about my personal life. They care about how I use my life to make theirs better.”

“Voters care. Are you a good politician?”

“You tell me.”

“Are you a good boyfriend?”

“Define good.”

“The two are probably similar. Loyal. Attentive.”

“Then, yes, I’m good.”

The innocent word sounded anything but coming out of his mouth. “But you’re still single,” she said. Why not push it a little?

He rubbed his chin. “Why is this relevant?”

“Voters put married people in the White House.”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

“Your father seems to think you’ll be in the Oval Office within eight years.”

He sighed. “My father is ambitious.”

“Aren’t you?”

“Ambition that oversteps experience is dangerous. You can quote me on that.”

“Are we still talking about the White House or marriage?”


“You date a lot.”

“Been Googling me, Miss Walker?”

The chastisement in his gaze made her feel as if he’d caught her downloading porn.

“I’m a single man. I won’t deny I enjoy the company of beautiful women.”

“But you don’t keep them around very long.”

“Or, they don’t keep me.”

Now that was a surprise. Could this man have a humble streak? Nah. “I doubt that’s the case. None of them—even Laurel Dane—had nothing but glowing praise for you.”

“Undeserved, I’m sure. No one pleases everyone.”

“You seem to.”

He stood. “Let me know when you’d like to conduct a real interview, Miss Walker. I’m busy—”

He stopped short and sent a stony gaze to her hand that had magically affixed itself to his forearm. She quickly dropped her hand back to her lap.

“I apologize, congressman, I just wanted to—”

“I know what you need, Miss Walker.”

She studied her fingers. She said want, right? “It’s-it’s an opportunity for you. To set the record straight.”

He smiled. “You mean for you.”

“You can clear up certain . . . rumors. No one seems to know much about you.”

He plucked a white hair from her shoulder.

“I have a cat,” she whispered. “Do you have a pet? How about a dog? Isn’t it mandatory to have a dog once you’re in Congress?”

“No. No, pets.”

“Not even a goldfish?”

“Not even a goldfish.”

“But, lots of ex-girlfriends.” She might go to hell for pushing, but she couldn’t seem to stop her mouth.

He tilted his head. “You’re going to write what you want. The question is, are you interested in the truth?”


“Are you sure?”

She swallowed and nodded once.

“Then turn off the tape recorder.”

“But, I—“

“If you want me to answer your questions—the ones your mouth can’t seem to stop asking—you’ll turn it off. Then we can have a real conversation.”

She switched off the machine and placed it in his outstretched hand. He fingered the device as he eyed her up and down. Finally, he sat and gestured for her to join him on the couch.

“Now, Miss Walker, what do you want to know?”

~~~Read part two here~~

5 Things About Fearless

Sarah’s life of rigid control will shatter under the love of two men

Two years ago Sarah had one weekend of unwise, reckless passion with another Dominant, Steffan. She was not prepared for his sudden reappearance in DC—with Laurent, an angelic male submissive, in tow. Together the two men will crash her carefully constructed world. It might be worth it to have Laurent. The trouble is Steffan wants in, too.

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Meet ELITE’s Heroine, Christiana Snow


For many years, Washington, D.C. was my home. Despite the negative publicity that town endures, the nation’s capital will always have a soft spot in my heart. After all many people—most, in fact—have nothing to do with our government. Elite’s heroine, Christiana Snow, is one such person.

Thrown into the world of high society by her best friend, Avery, and her political reporter father, Christiana would like nothing more than to lead a different life—one that is not tied to others’ agendas. So she sets her sights on getting through college and paying for it. What better way to make a lot of money quickly? Get a job at The Oak Room, a five-star restaurant in the city’s most notorious hotel, The Oak.

Below is her job interview with The Oak Room’s manager, Brian Bishop. She tries hard to remain private, but in Washington, D.C. secrets are hard to keep …


The Job Interview
Brian Bishop fingered the resume in his hand and frowned. “Christiana Snow” had been typed at the top with a long list of waitressing jobs itemized underneath. By the feel of the indents on the paper, she’d produced the document of her work life on an old-fashioned typewriter. So strange. And why is the daughter of a Pulitzer Prize-winning writer wanting to waitress instead of interning in some swanky downtown office?
“I didn’t expect a college student to have such extensive experience. Six waitressing jobs in four years? Not all at once, I trust?”
“Um, no.” Her face reddened. “But if you hire me, I’ll work as many shifts as you have . . . or need.”
He assessed the young lady before him. She shifted her weight from one leg to the other. Shy. But not diffident. She looked capable. “You enjoying serving others?”
“I’m good at it.” She dropped her head. “That sounded arrogant. Sorry. It’s just I’ve worked since I was fifteen.”
His frown deepened. “Tell me, Miss Snow, why here? My sous chef told me your father is Peter Snow and—”
“The tips.” She looked up at him, flushing from head to toe. “Um, and filing paperwork in my dad’s office isn’t . . . appealing. Besides, I’m a good waitress and you could use the help.”
He raised his eyebrows at her bold statement.
“I mean I’d like to help. You seemed quite busy the other day.”
Busy wasn’t a strong enough word for the current state of The Oak Room. It was only May and their lunch and dinner reservations list already boasted a long waiting list for the next several weeks. He was at least four servers short. Didn’t anyone want to serve anymore?
“Checking us out?” he asked with a smile. He’d be mightily impressed if she’d done just that.
She blinked her large blue eyes. “I was here with my best friend and her family. The Churchills?”
Many Washingtonians would kill to drop such a powerful family connection. What was it about her tone that had him believe she wasn’t trying to impress?
“Let’s sit over there.” He gestured to an empty corner booth, set up for the lunch crowd an hour away from arriving. Considering the young girl would likely be the stupidest move he’d made in eight years. She’d leave in three months, for God’s sake. Yet something about Christiana Snow’s sincerity made him hit the pause button on his normal reaction to such a scenario. Immediately dismissing her job candidacy seemed unwise. After all, pretty female servers did well with the older men. Especially well connected pretty girls.
After she eased herself across the leather bench and settled, he resumed scanning her resume. “You’ve only ever waitressed.”
“It seemed the best way to save for college. If you’re good, you can make a lot.”
“And you’re good.”
“Yes.” She straightened her back. Summoning more courage? “I know I’ve only worked in mid-level restaurants. But I was the highest tip earner at my last place—”
“Maverick’s.” The wanna-be gentleman’s club attracted lonely older man whose sexual overtures might go overlooked in the dark lighting. He doubted Christiana left without being groped a few times. Though single and romantically unencumbered, a fatherly protective feeling arose in him. He shuttered it. She probably causes the same sentiment in every man she meets.
Brian returned to the job at hand—assessing her abilities. “We get slammed during the summer. Tourist season and all. I have a few personal questions, nothing that goes against federal law, mind you. But I have to know a few things, for security reasons. You’re aware of the clientele we serve?”
“Politicians. judges, attorneys.” She laughed at the last word. Anyone in Washington would match her mirth. You couldn’t throw a rock without hitting a lawyer in D.C. “And tourists, as you said, all looking to catch a glimpse of someone famous. I’m familiar with the crowd.”
She didn’t return his smile. “I have no police record. I’m in perfect health. I’m not pregnant. No physical impediments to doing the job. No boyfriend, restraining orders or trouble with the law.”
Jesus, this woman understood his predicament. Federal law kept him from asking any of what she revealed. Yet if anything on her recited list had existed, great angst would arise in a restaurant manager. Or anyone. Only one other thing she didn’t mention could be worse. . . .
“You might overhear certain conversations,” he said.
“You’re afraid I’ll tell my father what I hear.” She stated it directly, without hesitation and tinged with weariness. So, she’d had such conversations before. Having a famous, political writer father meant only one thing in this town—potential information leaks. Had she been accused of this in the past?
He scrubbed his face. “Discretion, especially in the more private dining areas, such as the Cabinet Room—”
“Is none of my business. I won’t tell my father anything. You have my word.” She emphasized her last statement.
“We have a clause in our standard employment agreement that covers confidentiality.” Barely enforceable, but it exists. He suspected her word held more force than any piece of paper.
She sighed. “You see from my resume that I worked one summer at the Rosemont Country Club. They’re also concerned about privacy.”
“Why not go back there?”
“Well . . . it’s kind of embarrassing. But I need to make more money, and when I asked for a raise they said ‘no.’ College is expensive.” She laughed lightly but then grew quiet. “The Churchills also are part of the finance committee and I’d see them there. . . I’d have to serve them all the while knowing I’d asked for a raise and was denied. See what I mean?” She lowered her head.
An anger arose in him. So, the hoity-toity crowd of Rosemont—and her friends?—hadn’t been generous with Christiana. Jesus, Bishop, get a grip. Tamp it down. She’s going to be one of your waitresses. Shit, he’d already mentally hired her.
“It made you mad?”
She lifted her gaze. “I didn’t want to make them uncomfortable.”
This girl couldn’t be for real. They refused her a raise of what? Maybe a dollar an hour? She was concerned they’d feel strange seeing her, knowing they’d been tight-wads? Fifteen minutes with this woman and he’d practically adopted her as a daughter—someone needing protection.
“I believe you’ll find our customers to be quite generous.”
“I could tell when I was here. Even though your wait staff seemed really taxed. I could start today, if you’d like. I think lunch starts in forty-five minutes?”
Oh, she was good. She deserved . . . more.
“You’re hired.” Did he really just do this?
Her face cracked into a huge grin, revealing her true age. She really was nineteen. If a man wasn’t careful, he’d believe she was twenty-five.
Dangerous, Bishop. She is definitely dangerous. Thank God he’d hired her. Keep her working and out of trouble.

Available for Sale at Amazon, Audible, B&N, Apple/iBooks and Kobo

Reviews for ELITE:
5 star:
“Elizabeth SaFleur’s book explodes and almost rocked our capital for a loop!”

5 star:
“Wow. Where do I start…an exceptional book.”

5 star:
“Elizabeth SaFleur did an amazing job in creating a book that will stay with me. A must add to your tbr list. Highly recommended.”

Public Relations Advice for Faleena Hopkins

I attempted to write a blog post, using my 34 years in public relations to help Faleena Hopkins fix this ridiculous and dangerous situation that will impact creatives for many, many years. Why? I can’t stop thinking about how she grossly underestimated the solidarity of the romance writing community, how she continues to assert she is just trying to protect her brand, how she continues to believe she is right. Then I remember the last 34 years and it all clicks into place. I’ve seen this scenario before . . . so many, many times before . . .

Starts blog post: You can’t stay quiet anymore.
Stops blog post: You should be writing your book instead of throwing unsolicited advice to someone who will never read it or take it.

Restarts: Self, you spent three decades in PR.  Those 34 years of working in the most cynical, hard, arrogant, well-intentioned, mistake-prone place in the world called Washington, DC has to do some good.
Stops: And be seen as helping the enemy? Just go back to writing. You’re behind on your deadline, ya know.

Restarts: Everyone can be redeemed. Besides it might help someone else who falls into a similarly horrendous, completely-self-made, reputation f*ck up scenario like FH has created.
Stops: Elizabeth, you are being a pollyanna. She won’t listen. Narcissists never do.

Restarts: But this whole bloody mess could be turned around.  I mean, to a point. She could at least reach the level of indifference.
Stops: Too many people will never forgive her. It’s a waste of time.

Restarts: The public has an enormous capacity to forgive—if you ask for it.
Stops:: Oh, come on. She seems to have crossed that line. Ya’ know the one that all humans have but rarely get to? The line where “being right” becomes more important than “being happy?” You’ve seen this before. Lordy, have you seen this before! They dig in their heels and double down on their stance in an attempt to further prove they are right even if the outcome is clearly going to show they are wrong.

Restarts: FH has dug in her heels so far she’s up to her ass in dirt. Help the poor woman save herself.
Stops: The steps are too hard. Most people, and certainly not someone like who FH has shown herself to be, won’t do the things you’d suggest.

Restarts: Listen, self, you really should support all the other authors who have stuck their necks out on this thing,  like writing cocky-titled and cocky-themed books, with what you can contribute—PR advice. You can at least tell them what you’d tell FH if she’d listen, which is to:
1) Stop talking about it.
2) Start breathing — and thinking. Stop reacting.
3) Identify what she really wants from her life and her work.
4) Apply to rescind the TM on the single word, cocky, but keep the series TM.
5) Ask for forgiveness for all that came before this moment, and DO NOT say a word about angry responses. Be sure to say she made a mistake, and that she’s sorry. Like, really sorry and that she hopes others can forgive her.
6) Ask for forgiveness from the specific authors, attorneys and the publicist she’s gone after and not expect said forgiveness but rather hope for indifference. In fact, consider covering their legal bills.
7) Offer to help/financially support the Romance Writers of America (RWA) and the Authors Guild so they can work with the PTO in changing their policies so individual words remain in the public domain.
8) Find a tribe of authors who can provide future advice on what to do/not do so she’ll never, ever end up here again. Hold them close. Above all else, listen to them.
9) Ride off into the sunset to make her movies or whatever the hell number 3 is but remembering number 4
10) Understand none of this is guaranteed to work but worth trying anyway. What isn’t a reputation worth?

Stops: Take your own advice, Elizabeth, especially step 3. Go back to writing your own books. Support RWA and the Authors Guild in having that talk with the PTO about removing the ability for an individual, non profit, corporation or governmental body to “own” a word. Buy all the cocky books written by other authors that you can get your hands on.

Oh, and if FH does take the advice above? Forgive her.

But only if she asks for it.