Perhaps she could start her own public relations firm. After all, when it came to PR, timeliness was everything. At a critical juncture, good PR could even determine a company’s survival.
Take Forrest Quinn, for example. If the company hadn’t found a solid PR firm this time around, it likely would have been completely drowned by public opinion. The future emails Wendy Lynch received were precisely this kind of highly time-sensitive trump card. Although two days was a short window, it felt like an eternity when dealing with unexpected emergencies. Emergency PR windows often closed within a few hours or, at most, a day or two.
If she opened a PR firm, based on the patterns she had figured out so far, it was highly likely that the future emails would start providing information related to that field.
Wendy’s previous plan had been simple: get promoted to S6 at Titan Engine as quickly as possible, then use Titan Engine as a stepping stone. Once she smoothly transitioned to ByteDance, she would have a larger platform and a higher position, which meant the information in the future emails would become even more valuable.
However, it seemed there wasn’t just one path to the future. Her original route might be easier, but stepping out to work for herself could yield profits far beyond what a corporate job offered. After all, according to the industry information she had gathered, the starting fee for a major PR incident like Forrest Quinn’s was easily in the hundreds of thousands.
While the randomness of the future emails meant she wouldn’t be able to take on every single case, completing just a dozen or so projects a year would basically guarantee her financial freedom. More importantly, these two paths didn’t conflict at all. They could be pursued simultaneously, just like she was doing now.
Wendy took a deep breath, suppressing the flutter of excitement in her chest. It was a bit too early to dream about financial freedom; after all, she hadn’t even started her first gig yet.
She opened the fridge, took out a bottled iced Americano, twisted off the cap, and downed half of it. GULP, GULP, GULP.
Time waited for no one. She could only glimpse the tip of the iceberg of the future through her emails. She didn’t even know when this PR copy was actually supposed to be implemented. All she could do now was rush out a usable proposal as quickly as possible and deliver it to Forrest Quinn.
The chill of the iced Americano slid down her throat and into her stomach, making her shiver, but it instantly jolted her awake.
At two in the morning, the only sound in the dark rental apartment was the CLACK, CLACK, CLACK of her keyboard. Wendy’s eyes were already bloodshot from staying up, and the coffee cup on her desk had long since been emptied. The document on her screen was densely packed with words, yet her fingers continued to fly across the keys.
"The boss must admit fault and apologize, maintaining a sincere attitude..."
"The new promotional copy needs a contrasting appeal to overturn previous stereotypes..."
"Offline tasting events, online discount perks..."
She scrutinized every detail repeatedly, terrified of missing any crucial information. She had to fully recreate all the operations mentioned in the future emails—and execute them even better.
Her phone screen lit up again. It was 4:30 AM.
Wendy rubbed her sore neck and finally typed the last period at the end of the document. The entire proposal was over four thousand words long. From crisis analysis to specific execution, every step included a detailed operational guide. She had even written down the exact promotional copy that would allow Forrest Quinn to make its comeback, word for word.
"Life should never be a cycle of internal friction..."
"I was once a wealthy heiress, but framed by villains..."
Looking at these quirky, contrasting lines of copy on the screen, a tired smile tugged at the corners of Wendy’s mouth. These lines would bring Forrest Quinn back from the dead in the future, and it should be no exception now.
She saved the document, opened Forrest Quinn’s official website, and quickly located their contact information. The head of the PR department was named Dean Lowenbaum, and his phone number was listed right there on the site.
Wendy checked the time. Calling now would definitely be treated as harassment. She decided to wait until nine in the morning to reach out. After setting her alarm, she slumped over her desk and napped for two hours.
At exactly 9:00 AM, Wendy dialed Dean Lowenbaum’s number.
"Hello, this is Dean Lowenbaum." A slightly exhausted male voice came from the other end of the line.
"Hello, Mr. Loland. I’m Wendy Lynch. I’d like to speak with you about Forrest Quinn’s current PR crisis. I have a complete solution."
The line fell silent for a few seconds.
"Miss Lynch, I’ve received at least dozens of calls like yours offering PR solutions," Dean Lowenbaum said, his voice carrying obvious impatience. "People claiming to be PR gurus, others saying they have internal connections to help remove us from the trending lists... we simply don’t have the energy to deal with them all.
"Besides, our company already has a plan for our next step, so I’m sorry, but we don’t need a PR proposal. Thank you!"
Wendy took a deep breath. "Mr. Loland, my proposal is different. And I can sign a performance-based agreement with you. If my PR strategy yields no results, I won’t charge a single cent."
That statement brought silence to the other end of the line. After a long while, Dean Lowenbaum finally spoke. "You’re that confident?"
"Yes, I am completely confident in my proposal."
The other side went quiet for another ten seconds, seemingly weighing whether to give Wendy this chance.
"Alright then. Our company is over in the Argent District. I’ll be having lunch at a local restaurant downstairs at 12:30 PM. I can spare the time before the food arrives to listen to you.
"But let me make this clear beforehand: if your proposal isn’t practical, I will end the conversation immediately."
Thrilled that he agreed to meet, Wendy quickly replied, "No problem! I’ll definitely be there on time!"
Hanging up, Wendy immediately opened her phone and checked AutoNavi. The Argent District was only a dozen or so minutes away from her own company, so she wouldn’t even need to ask for time off in advance to head over.
Time quickly flew by, and soon it was noon.
Wendy swiftly clocked out of work, then rode her little electric scooter non-stop to the agreed-upon Hunan restaurant. She didn’t rush inside, choosing instead to wait by the entrance.
At 12:30 PM, a man in his early thirties wearing a white dress shirt and a highly fashionable young woman walked toward the entrance of a local restaurant.
Seeing the man, Wendy’s eyes immediately lit up. She had seen his photo on the official website; it was indeed Dean Lowenbaum.
Wendy hurried over to greet him. "Hello, Director Loland, I’m Wendy Lynch. I called you this morning!"
Dean Lowenbaum paused his steps and turned to look at her. "Miss Lynch, right? Let’s talk inside."
Without looking back, he took the lead and walked into the restaurant.
Wendy wasn’t angry at his dismissive attitude. Right now, she was the one asking for a favor. Plus, considering what he had mentioned about the past two days, he was probably sick to death of people trying to pitch proposals to him. This level of courtesy was already pretty good.
The three of them entered the restaurant and found a four-person table to sit at. Dean Lowenbaum consulted with his female companion and ordered their food before finally turning his attention to Wendy.