probably not the best ghostwriter, but every client smiled. Copy that works -​> reviews below. (soon to be dad, love our doggo, and love fishing)

If posting on LinkedIn feels like work… it’s because it is.

Most founders post at night, second-guess in the morning, and delete by noon.
Then wonder why their pipeline’s cold.

If that’s you, you’re not alone.
But you also don’t have to stay stuck.

👋 I’m Laszlo.
I ghostwrite for founders & CEOs who want credibility and calls, without faking it or burning out.

Here’s what I do:
→ I write like you actually sound
→ I make your ideas land in the right inbox
→ I give you back your weekends

10+ leads in 60 days for multiple clients.
One client booked a lead in 10 days.
I’ve written over 1,300+ posts across 20+ industries.
Grew my own following to 6,800+ without ads.
And every word is handcrafted, not AI-churned.

But forget the numbers for a sec.

Here’s what they really say:

“He captured my voice better than I could.”
“It felt like I had a partner, not a ghostwriter.”
“I actually enjoy LinkedIn again.”

Full testimonials in the Featured section.

If you:
– Want to buy back 3–6 hours weekly
– Want to stop sounding smart and start sounding like yourself
– Believe content should create calls, not crickets

DM “Let’s go.”

No theatre. No fluff. 
Just posts that sound like you and sell like hell.

Laszlo Konkoly

Most people don’t paint their house.
Most people don’t cut their own hair.
Most people don’t design their own house.

But suddenly, everyone’s a writer,
Because AI is here.

They don’t study clarity.
They don’t structure ideas.
They don’t think about audience.

They just prompt… and post.

And then wonder why it doesn’t land.

My wife got promoted at 5 months pregnant, 
But...
Every time I talk about Norway’s work culture, someone says:

“That’s not the real world.”
But maybe that’s the problem.

Because in the “real world” I grew up in, here’s what was normal:
→ Pregnant women fired for being pregnant.
→ Workers punished for caring for sick parents.
→ Managers acting friendly Monday, firing you Friday.

I’ve lived in 4 countries.
Seen this pattern play out again and again.

So when we moved to Norway and my wife got promoted while pregnant
I didn’t know what to do with that.

You read that right.

Five months in.
Told her company she’s expecting.

They gave her more responsibility, not less.

Knowing full well she’ll be on leave for a full year.

And they still said: “She’s the best person for the job.”

Here’s where people usually jump in:
“Sure, but people abuse systems like that.”
Or: “That kind of trust isn’t scalable.”

Maybe. Maybe not.

But I’ve seen what fear-based work cultures create.

I’ve lived inside them.

And if the alternative is a country where
→ doctors listen
→ managers lead with respect
→ and nobody acts like sick leave is a crime?

I’ll take that version of “unreal” every damn time.

This isn’t a fairy tale.

It’s a warning:
If fairness feels unrealistic to you,
maybe it’s not the country that’s broken.

Maybe it’s what you’ve gotten used to.

No alternative text description for this image

I slept on a beach once

Not as a gap-year story
Not as a “finding myself” thing.

I got fired in Cyprus and I didn’t see it coming.

So I froze.

No plan
No savings buffer
No brave exit story

Just a backpack, bad decisions, and a phone with almost no battery.

The beach wasn’t poetic.

It was loud.
Cold.
Uncomfortable.

Sand everywhere,
People laughing nearby,
Me pretending this was temporary.

It wasn’t.

I didn’t end up there because I was reckless.

I ended up there because I stayed too long in something that was already wrong.

I kept telling myself:

“Just a bit more.”
“Let’s see how it goes.”
“It’s not that bad.”

That sentence has quietly cost me more than any bold mistake ever did.

I see the same pattern now with founders.

They don’t fail loudly.
They stall quietly.

They wait for clarity.
They wait for confidence.
They wait for the moment where it feels safe to speak up.

And one day they realize they’ve been standing still for years.

This isn’t advice.
And it’s not motivation.

It’s just a reminder that comfort has a cost too.

Sometimes higher than moving early.

Most founders don’t quit LinkedIn,
They just quietly avoid it.
It sits there like an open browser tab you never close.

Always running. Always pulling a little energy

Posting late at night,
Second-guessing in the morning,
Deleting by lunch.

Not because they’re lazy.

Because running a company already fills your head with enough tabs.

I see this pattern constantly.
Founders say they want “strategy help.”

What they really want is to stop carrying LinkedIn around
like a half-packed backpack they never put down.

So they try to handle it themselves:
- AI drafts
- Templates
- Half-written thoughts squeezed between meetings

It works… kind of...
Likes come in,
Maybe a DM,
But the weight stays.

And here’s the quiet truth most people miss:

If LinkedIn is draining you instead of paying you back,
it’s not a platform problem,
It’s an ownership problem.

You don’t need more discipline.
You need space back.

I’ve got 2 spots open for founders who want to stay visible
without sacrificing evenings, weekends, or sanity.

If you don’t want to think about LinkedIn tonight,
DM me EVENINGS.

If not, close the laptop.
Sunday night is expensive too.

People follow random accounts.
People accept every connection.
People send connections to every 3rd person.

And suddenly, everyone complains about their feed,
Like it's someone else's fault.

They don't curate.
They don't unfollow.
They don't take responsibility.

They just scroll… and complain.

And they wonder why LinkedIn is not fun and stressful.

I’ll probably lose a few followers for saying this. Even get a block or 2.
My confession below may save me. But...
Most LinkedIn “networking” is as real as plastic fruit on a dining table.

Let’s call out the 2 greatest fakes:

Move #1: The Like-Comment Waltz

You hit like. Drop a comment.
They return the favor.
Then you send a connection request…

And suddenly it’s ghost town.
You thought you’d unlocked a business conversation.

They just wanted another +1 on their profile, ike collecting fridge magnets at a tourist shop.

Move #2: The Polite Ping-Pong

You praise their banner. Their dog.
Their third cousin’s podcast.
Weeks of chat that’s all foreplay, no action.

Everyone knows what’s coming. Both parties tiptoe around the pitch.
One of you ghosts.

Or you send The Message (generic pitch) and it dies like a sock in the laundry.

My confession?

I do like and comment before connecting.
Sure, it gets me 80% acceptance.

But my opener is always honest:
“Here’s what I do. Can this help you? Yes or no?”

Because I’d rather get a straight “no” in 10 seconds
than spend three weeks ballroom dancing around nothing.

Ask yourself:
How many polite convos died off because nobody wanted what you offered?
How much time vanished trying to “build rapport” with someone just being polite?

Truth is, both sides lose.

I’m done with the performance.
If you’re selling, say it.

If you’re not interested, say that too.

Respect isn’t in the dance, t’s in the honesty.

So, am I out of line here, or just saying what we’re all thinking?

Relaxed observation:

If you’re on LinkedIn all the time, you’re probably one of these:

– not actually working
- liar: "I only spend 1 hour daily here."
– wildly overworked
– sitting on way too much free time
– or… yeah, all of the above

OR
you’re smart enough to have someone else handle it for you.
No shame in that.

Some people build products.
Some people build teams.

Some people build visibility without thinking about it twice.
(That last one usually has a ghostwriter.)

And not the “competent” kind.

The kind that makes other LinkedIn people argue in the comments about whether you’re brilliant… or annoying… or both.

Anyway.
Back to work 😌

Prospect: booked a call last Thursday 4 PM. 
No show. He ghosted me.
Not a word before after.

Me: booked a call for Friday
I ghosted him. Didnt say a word.

Prospect: lets call him Derek.
So, Derek is pissed, 

He sent me a mail:
“How the fu*k I dare to waste his time? 
Who Am I?

Me: politely; score for me.
Match is tied: 1:1

Me: (email to him) now we are even, shall we kick the penalties; continue wasting each other’s time or we do proper overtime see if we vibe after all? (try the chat again) 

(We do overtime next week, 🤞, Derek is funny actually)

Moral of the story: have fun, you might end to win also with it

When I started on LinkedIn, I didn’t make small mistakes.
I made the kind that felt productive
and quietly cost me money.

The first one was saying yes to everyone.
Every request. Every “great profile!” DM.

My network grew fast… and became useless.
It looked impressive.
It did nothing.

Then there was my favorite excuse:
“I don’t want to be pushy.”
So I didn’t DM people.

Didn’t follow up. Didn’t turn interest into conversations.
I told myself I was being professional.

What I was really being was invisible.

The worst mistake?
Posting without knowing why I was posting.

Random thoughts.
Safe takes.
Inconsistent bursts of motivation.

People engaged. Nobody bought. And I blamed the platform.

Here’s the uncomfortable truth founders hate:

LinkedIn doesn’t reward effort.
It rewards intent.

Who you connect with.
Who you talk to.

What story your posts repeat.

When I fixed those 3 things,
LinkedIn stopped being “content” and started being leverage.

Not overnight.
But predictably.

If your presence looks busy but your pipeline feels quiet,
it’s not bad luck.

It’s usually one of these three.
Which one are you pretending isn’t the issue?

12 years ago, I was promoted before I could explain myself properly.
Turns out, how I sounded wasn’t the deciding factor.

I was an immigrant.

In 2013, my Norwegian had a 200-word limit:
In meetings, I’d start a sentence… then stop…
...searching for the right word, like I was digging through my pockets for my keys.

You know that moment:
Everyone’s watching, 
You feel the heat, 
You keep going anyway.

The people who sounded best in meetings
weren’t the ones others went to when things got tight.

When something broke or plans fell apart,
nobody asked who could explain it best.
They watched who moved first.

Since then, I’ve seen this play out in teams, leadership, and business.

When things go wrong, who people really follow?

New client,
Fresh energy.

Way less friction than usual.
She brings ideas and thinks ahead.

Treats this like a system, not a lottery ticket.
Love how fast things move when that clicks.

Sunday momentum!
Finally got a creative approach.

graphical user interface, text, application, chat or text message

A lot of people don’t niche down.
A lot of people stay broad on purpose.
A lot of people are afraid to choose.

I stayed broad for a year. (didnt niche down either)

Not because I was lazy.
Not because I lacked ambition.
Because “niching down” sounded like a trap and boring.

Everyone kept saying:
“Just niche down.” “It’ll be easier.”

I couldn't comprehend: “It’ll be easier.” 
(nobody could explain it properly)

So I wrote for my ICP... 
But for 30+ niche.

Safe ideas.
Generic writing problems.
Nothing you could argue with.
And LinkedIn did exactly what I deserved:

Posts were kept flopping the whole year in '25.

Because when your content doesn’t signal who it’s for,
the algorithm treats it like an airport departure board with no destinations.

Plenty of flights.
Nowhere specific to go.
I even heard it said out loud on a live roast:
“You can’t niche down too much here. There are plenty of people.”
I nodded. (Luke Matthews said it)

I ignored it...., huge mistake, cost me a year.

When I finally committed to one lane, something boring, but... 
important happened:
- my feed got quieter
- my conversations got sharper
- my posts stopped floating and started landing

Turns out a niche isn’t a cage and its not boring either.
It’s a signal.

So here’s the uncomfortable question:

Are you staying broad because it’s strategic
 or because you’re avoiding commitment?

PS: The lightbulb moment happened end of last year, when 2 of my retainer client grew faster than me, and everything is easier with their profile... I realized whats wrong with my own... I smile at it now. Lesson learned.

“Do I really need to post that often?”
“And will it even make a difference?”

Most people on LinkedIn don’t post.
They watch, they lurk. They “mean to someday.”
And that’s the whole point.

If only ~1% post weekly, then “joining the 1%” isn’t about talent.

It’s about showing up.
The bar is low.
Like… embarrassingly low.

Step 1: Post.
That alone separates you.

Step 2: 
Say something clearly.

Because once you’re already posting, the fastest way to stand out is simple:

Great social copywriting.
Not “write like Shakespeare.”
Write like a human who has a point.

One small tweak that changes everything:
Don’t start with what you did.

Start with what they’re thinking.
Bad: “Here’s a tip about content.”
Good: “Why do smart founders still get ignored on LinkedIn?”

Same topic.
Different gravity.

Show up.
Then make it easy to read.

That’s the game.

If you want more stuff like this, follow me on LinkedIn.

Most founders I talk to don’t suffer from a lack of ideas. The opposite.
They tend to arrive with their heads full, speaking in long sentences, pulling from years of experience, trying to say... 
everything they know before the moment escapes them.

I can almost hear the thinking while they write. 

One post becomes a place to teach, to position, to vent, to sell, and to quietly prove they’re competent enough to be taken seriously. 

All of it sincere. All of it human. All of it happening at once.

The problem isn’t bad content. 

It’s content doing too many jobs in too small a space, which is how honest thoughts start to read like mumbling. 

The posts still get likes, usually polite ones, mostly from people who already understand the backstory.

That’s why “just be yourself” only gets you so far. 
Authenticity without shape doesn’t travel well. It stays close to home.

Founders don’t need to become writers. They need help framing what they already know, so one idea reaches one reader and does one clear thing.

That doesn’t kill the voice. 
It finally lets it be heard.

And without that help, people don’t disappear because they’re wrong. 

They disappear because they were unclear.

Most “good” LinkedIn posts die quietly.
Not because they’re bad,
Because they’re predictable.

You open the app.
Your brain already knows what’s coming.
Another “3 lessons.”

Another calm opinion.
Another post that feels… fine.

And fine is invisible.

The posts that travel don’t do it because the algorithm “liked them.”

They do it because something felt off, in a good way.

A line that made you pause.
A sentence that didn’t resolve immediately.
A thought that arrived half a second late and stuck.

That’s not luck.
That’s surprise.

Your brain scrolls on autopilot until something breaks the pattern.

Like hearing your name in a crowded room.

Like a microwave stopping at 00:01 and forcing you to look.

Most people try to be clear first.
But clarity only matters after attention.

Predictable posts are easy to understand.
They’re also easy to forget.

If your content feels “safe,” it’s probably already dead.

Honest question:
What’s one thought you don’t post
because it might sound a little weird out loud?

See you in the comments.

New CEO of Ryanair soon…

…this happened after Michael O’Leary rejected Starlink WiFi for Ryanair and had a public spat with Elon

graphical user interface, text, application

Most founders ask for frameworks.
Most founders ask for good hooks.
Most founders ask for “value.”

Before I write anything, I ask for something else:

A moment.
Something that actually happened.

- a decision, 
- a mistake, 
- a thought you didn’t say out loud.

Because if it moved you, it will stop someone else.

Then a belief.
Not the lesson you’d put on a slide.

The thing you now believe because you lived it.

And finally, a constraint,

Because unlimited space creates noise.
And tight limits force the truth to surface.

Most content fails because it starts with advice.

Authority doesn’t. Authority starts with experience.

If you can’t name the moment,
or the belief,
or where to stop:

You don’t need better writing.
You need sharper thinking.

That’s the real work.

About 8% of the year is already gone.
January’s almost over, and something funny keeps happening to me…

This month alone, I’ve had 12 people try to sell me something in DMs.
Smart offers. Decent positioning. 
Some even well-written.

I didn’t buy from a single one. 
Not because the offer was bad.

Because I didn’t trust them enough to even click their profile.

No consistent posting.
No visible thinking.
No trail of ideas, opinions, wins, or scars.

Nada.

In plain English:

If you’re not visible, you’re not credible.
And if you’re not credible, your deal dies before the first call.

From the buyer’s side, it feels like this:

If I can’t understand how you think in 10 seconds of scrolling, I move on.

Not out of arrogance.
Out of self-defense.

Consistency isn’t a content strategy.
It’s a trust signal.

And every week you stay quiet, someone louder and often less capable, becomes the default option in your market.

So here’s the uncomfortable question to sit with as January closes:

If a serious buyer checked your profile today,
would they see a leader worth betting on…
or someone who looks like they might disappear again next week?

That gap is where most deals are lost.

I don’t get why people are still shocked by AI comments on LinkedIn.
Like… what did you expect?
Only about 1% of people post here, right? So...

From that group, a massive chunk is already using AI to write the posts.
So, of course, the comments are AI too. Duh?!

This is the part everyone pretends not to see:
Most people don’t want to be active on LinkedIn.

They want the result of being active.
(if they smart, they hire a ghostwriter)

If they have money, they hire a VA....
And the VA has one job: comment as much as possible in 1–2 hours.

Not to think.
Not to read deeply.
Just to move fast.

If they don’t have a budget, they do it themselves. 
(God, they hurt so much for their credibility)

With bad prompts.
On bad days.
While half-paying attention.

That’s how you end up with:
“Great insights! Thanks for sharing 🚀” under a post that clearly wasn’t read.

I hate seeing AI comments, too.

Especially under my own posts.
So I block them.
Ignore them.
Move on.

But what really doesn’t add up?

People are complaining about AI comments...
while the feed is flooded with AI posts.

You can’t be surprised by fake engagement in a system built on fake activity.

If you want real conversations,
start with real thoughts.

Otherwise, this is exactly the feed we’re choosing to build.

undefined undefined

Your personality, Your thoughts, Your message.
(I only write…for You)

Founder

What if you could have a proven LinkedIn system that takes less than 50 minutes to set up—and continues working for you, even while you focus on your business?

The Simplest LinkedIn Growth System for Founders & CEOs

I’ve created a no-nonsense system that lets you build authority, attract leads, and grow effortlessly—without overcomplicated tactics or high-ticket retainers.

Ghostwriter & Copywriter

Part-time chameleon, full-time scriptwriter – I ghostwrite like I’ve lived a hundred lives. 
Capturing voices and bringing stories to life is what I do best.

Scriptwriter

Web Content Writer

probably not the best ghostwriter, but every client smiled. 
Copy that works -​> reviews below. 
(soon to be dad, love our doggo, and love fishing)

Ghostwriter for people who hate sounding like everyone else.

You’re not just busy.
You’re buried.

Clients, calls, launches, growth… and somewhere in between, you’re supposed to “just post on LinkedIn” and wait for the leads to roll in.

Here’s the truth nobody tells you:
Inbound works - but it’s not instant.
It takes time, testing, and the right content to attract the right people.

That’s why my clients don’t rely on hope alone.
We run inbound and outbound in parallel.

Inbound: Content + comments that build authority and trust so leads find you.

Outbound: Strategic, non-spammy outreach that starts conversations with your ideal buyers now.

It’s a two-lane system:

Inbound creates long-term demand.
Outbound brings short-term opportunities.
Together, they keep your pipeline moving - now and later.

What this looks like in action:

“Five months ago, I was stuck at 20K. Now we’re almost at 70.
It didn’t happen by magic. It happened in the shadows — your ghost comments, your fingerprints on DMs I didn’t know how to answer.
Somewhere in the middle of all that, my work got sharper. Less about me, more about them.
You don’t say much. But when you do, it’s clean, fast, and brutal in the best way. I trust your eye because you don’t flinch.”

Proof:

11k+ organic followers grown

Clients booking calls within weeks

Leads that multiply with consistent, strategic posting

If you want LinkedIn to bring you leads without becoming a guessing game,
DM me “GROW” and I’ll share the exact strategy I use for my clients.

Nadia Bajwa

Myth #6:

“Content is king.”

No.

Clarity is king.

Content without clarity is just noise with formatting.

Clarity is what makes someone:
 
→ Pause
→ Pay attention
→ Pre-qualify themselves
→ DM you without needing a pitch

People don’t remember the post.
They remember how clear you were.

You can be loud.
Consistent.
Even viral.

And still completely misunderstood.

The real skill?

Writing in a way that makes someone pause and say:
“This is exactly what I’ve been trying to explain.”

That’s when the DMs start.
That’s when referrals click faster.
That’s when your content stops being content and starts being proof.

Not of popularity.
Of precision.

If you hire a ghostwriter just to “save time,” you’ll get filler.

But if you want to scale your signal, here’s what happens instead:

→ Your beliefs get sharper
→ Your story gets tighter
→ Your content finally matches the way you speak on your sharpest day

Most people don’t need help being louder.

They need help being clearer.

That’s what we do.

Quietly. Consistently. In your voice.

You write something honest.
Then you soften it.
Then you tweak the tone.
Then it doesn’t land - because it doesn’t feel like you anymore.

The line you deleted?

That was probably the one worth posting.

Sharp content isn’t risky because it’s bold.
It’s risky because it’s true.

But truth is what cuts through.

Not performance.
Not polish.

Permission.

There’s a version of you that works 60 hours and feels alive.
And a version that works 20 and still feels drained.

Burnout is rarely about volume.

It’s about:

→ Ownership
→ Clarity
→ Resonance

If your work reflects who you are and what you stand for, it feeds you.

If it doesn’t, even a few hours a day feels like a grind.

Before you cut hours, check direction.

I’ve realized something uncomfortable.

My days are full.
I show up.
I get things done.
I stay “on track.”

And yet, there’s this quiet feeling that I’m not actually moving forward.

Not falling apart.
Not failing.
Just… stuck in place.

It’s a strange space to be in.
Nothing hurts enough to force change.
Nothing excites enough to spark growth.

So life keeps moving
and I move with it
without really choosing direction.

From the outside, everything looks fine.
That’s what makes it dangerous.

Because comfort can disguise stagnation.
And being busy can feel like progress.

If this resonates, it’s not negativity.
It’s awareness.

And awareness is usually where real change begins.

Some days I feel behind for no dramatic reason.

Nothing terrible happened.
No big failure.
Just a quiet awareness that I’m capable of more than what I’m currently doing.

That’s the uncomfortable part no one talks about.

When life isn’t falling apart, but it’s also not moving forward.
When you’re functioning, not fulfilled.
Busy, not building.

And you keep wondering if this is patience…
or avoidance dressed as maturity.

I don’t need a miracle.
I need honesty with myself.

Because comfort doesn’t ruin you loudly.
It lets you drift.

And drifting is how years disappear.

Last year, nothing was actually wrong with my life.

And that messed with me.

I was doing what I was supposed to do.
Showing up.
Staying busy.
Finishing things.
Saying “I’m good” when people asked.

But almost every night, when things went quiet,
I’d feel it.

This small, heavy feeling.
Like I was standing still while time kept moving.

I wasn’t failing.
I wasn’t behind.
I just… wasn’t going anywhere.

From the outside, everything looked fine.
From the inside, it felt like I was wasting something I couldn’t get back.

What hurt the most wasn’t messing up.
It was knowing I could do more
and choosing what was easier instead.

I didn’t need motivation.
I didn’t need advice.

I needed to stop lying to myself.

So I stopped waiting to feel ready.
Stopped saying “soon”.
Stopped calling fear “being patient”.

I’m not ahead of anyone.
I’m not done figuring things out.

But I’m moving.
And that matters.

That quiet pressure I used to feel at night?
It’s still there.

It just finally feels like it has a direction!

Everyone has access to the same tools now.

Same AI.
Same prompts.
Same frameworks.

So why does some content stop you mid-scroll
while the rest feels like recycled oatmeal?

Because tools don’t create resonance.
Taste does.

Taste is knowing:

 → What to cut
 → What to keep
 → What lands vs. what performs
 → What actually sounds like you

It’s the difference between content that’s just correct
and content that actually moves people.

AI can write.
But it can’t recognize what’s worth saying.

That’s still on you.
Or someone you trust to see what you can’t.

Some days you’re not lazy.
You’re just tired of pretending you care about things that don’t matter to you.

Tired of chasing goals you didn’t choose.
Tired of proving yourself to rooms that don’t see you.
Tired of shrinking your ambition so it fits your environment.

No one talks about this part.
The quiet grief of knowing you’re capable of more.
And still showing up where that “more” has nowhere to go.

But here’s what I’m learning, slowly.
Feeling stuck doesn’t mean you’re finished.
It means your current place can’t hold who you’re becoming.

So if today all you did was survive with your self respect intact, that counts.
You’re not behind.
You’re just gathering the courage to move differently.

I used to think I was behind.

Behind people with better colleges.
Better connections.
Cleaner timelines.

But then I realized something uncomfortable.

Most people aren’t ahead.
They’re just louder.

They post certainty while privately questioning everything.
They announce wins while quietly avoiding the work that actually scares them.

Progress rarely looks impressive in real time.
It looks boring.
Messy.
Repetitive.

Showing up when no one is clapping.
Fixing one small thing instead of chasing ten shiny ones.
Choosing clarity over noise.

You don’t need to reinvent yourself.
You need to stay long enough to compound.

That’s how real momentum is built.

Quietly.
Patiently.
Honestly.

taplio

The Battle

Laszlo Konkoly

Nadia Bajwa

Followers

Posts

Engagements

Likes

Performance ScoreLaszlo Konkoly's LinkedIn Performance

Performance ScoreNadia Bajwa's LinkedIn Performance

Ready to grow your LinkedIn presence?

taplio

The Battle

Laszlo Konkoly

Nadia Bajwa

Followers

Posts

Engagements

Likes

Performance Score.css-goub6s{font-size:var(--chakra-fontSizes-md);font-weight:500;color:var(--chakra-colors-gray-600);display:block;margin-top:var(--chakra-space-1);}Laszlo Konkoly's LinkedIn Performance

Performance ScoreNadia Bajwa's LinkedIn Performance

Ready to grow your LinkedIn presence?

Performance ScoreLaszlo Konkoly's LinkedIn Performance